


The Visiting Prince

by Emachinescat



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bromance, Friendship, Gen, Post-Season/Series 03, Pre-Season/Series 04, Protective Arthur, Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-04
Updated: 2011-09-22
Packaged: 2018-01-14 10:51:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 39,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1263553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emachinescat/pseuds/Emachinescat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Stay away from him!" The visiting prince snapped his eyes to meet Arthur's challenge. "Why?" he sneered. "He's just a mouthy servant. He needed to be taught a lesson." An old 'friend' is in Camelot and Merlin is paying the price.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Change

**Author's Note:**

> Don't own, for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> Enjoy :)

Prince Edmund of Stafford was one of the most obnoxious, self-righteous, patronizing, condescending, narcissistic royals that Arthur Pendragon had ever met. And, as the crown prince of Camelot, he had met more than his share of noblemen, kings, and princes. Camelot was a prosperous nation and many of his father's noble allies would visit on occasion, often bringing their families and what seemed like half their household and servants with them. There had been Lord Bayard of Mercia, although some rather unpleasant memories involving a certain poison-drinking servant caused the memory of that particular visit to be a bit tainted for Arthur. At one point, four kings from four different kingdoms had arrived to sign a peace treaty. Lord Godwin, one of his father's oldest friends, had brought his daughter, a rather unorthodox princess, with the intention of marrying her off to Arthur. Thankfully (though Elena was a wonderful girl and would someday make a fine bride to… someone else), the plan had fallen through.

Before all of these royal visitors, however, there had been Edmund. His father was the king over a small but prosperous kingdom past Cenred's lands and before the flimsy treaty had fallen out between Estecia – Cenred's kingdom – and Camelot, King Herbert and his son, along with many of their servants and knights, had travelled through Estecia every year to visit with King Uther and his household. Uther and Herbert had been the strongest of allies and greatest of friends for more years than either cared to remember. Arthur had always counted himself lucky that King Herbert didn't have a daughter – because if he did, she and Arthur would almost certainly have been married by now to further strengthen the treaty and good will between Herbert and his father's kingdom.

He had met Prince Edmund when they were both seven years old, the first time King Herbert had opted to bring his son along with him on his annual pilgrimage to Camelot. Edmund hadn't been too bad at first, although his idea of "fun" had more to do with flaunting his power and ordering servants around. Looking back, Arthur wondered if the other prince had been a bit of a negative influence on him as a child.

The last time Arthur had seen Prince Edmund was seven years ago, when the tensions between Camelot and Estecia grew tenfold and it was no longer deemed safe for an ally of Camelot to travel through Cenred's land. Now, however, it seemed that Cenred had been killed sometime during the time the immortal army was attacking Camelot. His kingdom had then been surged upon by several different kingdoms wanting to take control, but King Herbert and his surprisingly powerful army – with the help of Camelot's army, granted – had seized control and now Estecia was a colony of the royal Stafford family. And so Uther had arranged for King Herbert and his heir to come to Camelot as soon as it was deemed safe.

Arthur hadn't been thrilled with the prospect of seeing Edmund again – while they had been a sort of "friends" when they were younger, he had never really cared for the prince – but hoped that the presence of an old friend might help soothe his father's fragile mind and health after Morgana's betrayal. The king just hadn't been the same since Morgana had tried to take over although he had recovered his wits and a new fervor against magic fairly quickly. Arthur was growing a bit concerned because the arrest and execution rates had been rising since the attack on Camelot. Maybe seeing Herbert, his old friend, would help calm his father's nerves.

Now Arthur sat at the table in his room, a barely touched breakfast in front of him, as Merlin ambled about, making his bed, an amused grin on his lean face. Arthur frowned, picking at his buttered bread, watching as Merlin pretended he actually knew  _how_  to be a decent servant. Merlin, noticing his gaze, stopped what he was doing and demanded, "What is it?"

"Why are you so happy?" Arthur shot back in return, eyes narrowed. If Merlin was up to something, with that smile of his, it probably wasn't good. "What are you up to?"

Merlin's eyes were wide and innocent, although Arthur knew better. His suspicions were confirmed when Merlin smirked, "I was just thinking."

"Heaven help me," Arthur interrupted, eyes rolling upwards.

Merlin shook off the jibe and said, "Aren't you going to ask me what about?"

Arthur groaned. "I'd rather not." Merlin raised his eyebrows expectantly and the prince sighed. "You're just going to tell me, anyway, aren't you?"

Merlin chuckled and that was enough of an answer for Arthur.

" _What_  is it that's got you so  _amused_ ,  _Mer_ lin?" the prince asked irritably and he would die before he actually admitted that he was enjoying this conversation.

"Well, you're finally going to have a prat your own age to pal around with, aren't you?"

Arthur's eyes snapped up and met Merlin's. "Merlin, it's not funny," he said sternly. "Prince Edmund is a guest of my father and will be treated with respect." Arthur's impressive words were belittled as he found himself laughing at Merlin's words. How true it was – at least it had been true five years ago. Who knew, though? Perhaps Edmund had grown up since the last time they'd seen each other. Arthur knew that he had definitely grown as a prince, leader, and person and he also knew that he owed a lot of his change of perspective to the servant that was currently chortling along with him – but that was another thing Arthur was prepared to die before admitting.

"Wow," Merlin grinned. "Edmund must  _really_  be a prat if  _the_  Royal Dollop Head thinks he is!"

Arthur acted instinctively, lobbing the first item his hand touched at his servant. Luckily for Merlin, Arthur had found a buttered roll so it didn't do any damage, other than to the roll. Arthur glared. "See what you made me do?"

Merlin gaped. "What I—? Now, that's not fair."

Arthur glared and Merlin grumbled something unintelligible about princes and mood swings but Arthur wasn't paying attention. Instead, he was thinking back to the last time he had seen Edmund, this "prat" that he and his servant were joking so flippantly about. It had been seven years ago, when they were both teenagers.

Arthur had taken part in some things he regretted, and the fact that he had done them because Edmund had pressured him to made it that much worse.

* * *

 _"Come on, Arthur, he's just a_ servant _– a nobody! It's not like if he gets hurt it'll really matter!"_

_Arthur frowned, his dagger in one hand, the other clenched into a fist. His manservant, a fourteen year old boy named Christopher who spooked like a horse if you so much as looked at him the wrong way, was holding a wooden target. Arthur had been practicing (or rather, showing off) his dagger-throwing, hitting the center of the target Christopher held every time, which could not be said for Edmund, who had been rather sulky about losing until he had come up with this new idea._

_Edmund tossed the shiny red apple from one hand to the other, grinning. Christopher was standing off to the side of the training field, apparently trying to make himself as small as possible. Arthur could clearly see the fear in his eyes but shrugged off the small amount of guilt at what Edmund wanted to do. Hadn't Christopher always driven him up the wall, anyway? He was way too jumpy; he needed to learn how to man up, not be so scared all the time._

_Besides, Arthur tried to convince himself, it wasn't like he was going to_ miss _. Arthur had hit the bulls eye on the target every time. An apple on his servant's head shouldn't make much of a difference._

 _Arthur allowed a small smile to creep over his face, the overwhelming idea of the power he held as prince bubbling to the surface like it always did when Edmund was around. It was_ his _right to do what he wanted with his servant, anyway._ He _was the prince, not Christopher._

 _Snickering, Edmund strode over to Christopher, who bowed his head and looked as if he was trying to disappear. "Put the apple on your head," Edmund ordered sternly, before leering in the servant's face, "and_ don't _move… if you value your life."_

 _Arthur felt the tendril of uncertainty knife through him at Christopher's terrified squeak but ignored it when Edmund shot him a look. Arthur would do this; he would prove to Edmund that_ he _was strong and in control enough to do this._

_He lifted his dagger, balanced it in his hand, and threw it just as he had the others, but a little higher. The knife whizzed through the air, thudding quietly into the meat of the apple, sending it toppling off his servant's head – a servant, who at this point looked like he was going to pass out from the fright. Arthur smirked and said two words that he would regret for a long time to come. "Beat that."_

* * *

Arthur almost winced at the memory of Christopher with blood running down his hair. The knife had grazed his scalp but had done no lasting damage – Gaius had managed to treat him on time. Arthur had wanted to check up on the servant, guilt-ridden because of what Edmund's terrible aim had caused the already skittish servant to go through, but Edmund had laughed at him and Arthur, regrettably, had changed his mind so as not to look like he actually  _cared_  for 'nobodies.' He never should have challenged Edmund… and more than once after the incident, Arthur had found himself wondering if Edmund really  _had_ simply missed the apple because of bad aim, because he hadn't seem disgruntled at all at the results of his wild throw. Instead, he had laughed –  _laughed!_  – as Sir Leon, who had just been knighted, along with a few other kind men on the training field, rushed the bleeding and semi-conscious servant to the physician's chambers.

Merlin must have seen the thoughtful look on the prince's face because his own expression became serious and he took a step forward. "Everything okay, sire?"

Arthur didn't answer right away. The memory of Edmund's triumphant face when Christopher had been hit had sent a wave of uncertainty through Arthur. Perhaps the other prince had changed, but what if he hadn't? Arthur mentally blanched at the idea of Merlin in Christopher's place. Despite the fact that Arthur complained about his servant on a daily basis, the loyal idiot had wormed his way into Arthur's life as his closest and most trusted friend. This was yet another item on the "Do Not Admit" list that had been forming in the prince's guarded mind for quite some time now. In fact, the fact that he really considered Merlin as a friend was something he wasn't even willing to admit to  _himself_ , but the idea of Merlin hurt because of one of Edmund's stupid pranks did  _not_  set well with Arthur, even if he was relatively harmless.

Sure, Edmund wasn't  _good_  to servants, but that didn't mean that he was  _dangerous._  The incident with Christopher had been an accident – and besides, he reminded himself, Edmund had had seven years to change and mature. Arthur had.

Then again, Edmund hadn't had Merlin to annoyingly nudge him in the right direction with his smart-ass comments, endless prattle, and too-wise-for-such-an-insufferable-idiot advice at the most opportune moments.

Sighing, Arthur thought about warning Merlin to stay away from Edmund, just in case. Then he shrugged off the idea, sure that he was just being paranoid. He was  _way_ overthinking this. Besides, it wasn't Arthur's place to worry about his servant. He pointedly, stubbornly ignored the little part of his mind that insisted that it  _was_  his place to be concerned about his friend. It was fine. There was nothing to worry about; besides, he couldn't very well order Merlin to stay away from the man that would more than likely be spending more than his fair share of time hanging around Arthur. They would both just have to deal with Edmund's lofty behavior until he left, and then get on with their lives.

Merlin was still waiting but Arthur waved him off, disregarding the foreboding feeling swirling in his gut that said he shouldn't be taking this so lightly. "Nothing."

"Really?" Merlin said airily, a teasing lilt back in his voice. "'Cause it sure  _looked_  like something." He sniggered. "Was the act of  _thinking_  becoming too strenuous for you, sire?"

"Get out," Arthur snapped moodily, still caught up in his mental debate of whether or not to warn Merlin about how Edmund used to be.

Merlin blinked, looking a bit hurt, and Arthur grinned half-heartedly and chucked the other piece of bread (he didn't feel up to eating anymore and didn't exactly want it to go to waste) at Merlin's head to lighten the mood.

Merlin, still looking a little confused, smiled and said, "Prat."

"Idiot," Arthur countered without a beat of hesitation. This teasing, verbal exchange was all but instinct now. "Go get my formal jacket cleaned; we have to be in the throne room to meet King Herbert and Prince Edmund in an hour."

Merlin gave Arthur a long look as if trying to figure out what was on his mind before shrugging slightly and walking out of the room. Arthur huffed, his mind reeling. He  _really_ needed to stop getting worked up over nothing. Edmund was nothing to worry about. It had been  _seven years._ There was no way that Edmund couldn't have changed in that time.

Arthur was right – Edmund  _had_ changed, as he would soon find out. Unfortunately, though, just because he had changed didn't necessarily mean it was for the better.


	2. The First Warning

Edmund didn't look much different from the last time Arthur had seen him. He was still taller than Arthur, still pasty-skinned and pock-faced, and he still had that short, greasy red head of hair. His brown eyes were narrowed as he stood respectably behind his father, King Herbert, a great giant of a man, as the two kings greeted each other after many long years. Arthur tried not to pay too much attention to the other prince, but his gaze kept drifting over to Edmund's face, which had a look on it that suggested he was smelling something very stinky. Arthur didn't pay his expression too much mind, though, because Edmund  _always_ seemed to look like that… unless he was reveling in tormenting a servant or someone else below his status. Irritated at the old memories that kept returning, Arthur forced himself to listen to Herbert and Uther's meeting, and stopped looking Edmund's direction. Almost as soon as he turned his head, he could feel eyes boring into him and knew that Edmund was now scrutinizing him, probably doing the same thing Arthur had done, trying to discern how much he'd changed in the past years.

Merlin stood off to the side near Gaius and Arthur knew without looking that his servant was observing the visiting royals curiously. Arthur ignored both prince and servant, instead listening to the exchange between his father and King Herbert. "It has been too long, my friend," Herbert smiled, clasping Uther's hand in a friendly handshake. "Despite all of the trouble and heartache that led us to this point, I must admit that I am satisfied with the results. Cenred is now dead, his kingdom in our control, and peace restored."

Uther returned the smile but Arthur couldn't help but notice that it seemed a bit forced. He knew that despite his father's insistence that he was fully fit to rule, Uther was still greatly shaken by Morgana's betrayal. Any mention of his… his daughter (although it was still nearly impossible for Arthur to equate Morgana with being his half-sister, especially now that he had almost come to terms with her drastic change of heart – or, more accurately, her present lack thereof) and the king would stiffen up, his brow furrowed, lips tight, forehead wrinkled, and jaw tight. In his eyes would rage a fierce battle between sorrow and anger, backlit by an almost crazed desperation. Morgana's betrayal had hurt him – badly – and for someone, even his closest friend and ally, to speak of it almost flippantly, despite their good intentions, was bound to bother him deeply. Arthur prayed that his father wouldn't say or do anything to dampen the goodwill between the houses of Pendragon and Stafford because not only did he need a friend, but it was imperative that no friction existed between the two kingdoms now that King Herbert was in control of Cenred's lands.

Thankfully, Uther swallowed down his sorrow and anger at the mention of the chaos Morgana had wreaked and gave a slightly strained laugh. "I agree, Herbert. Our kingdoms and the bond they share are strong and together, the houses of Pendragon and Stafford can only overcome adversity."

"Well said, my friend, well said indeed," Herbert chuckled. He motioned Edmund to come closer and the red-haired prince moved forward and bowed respectfully to Uther. "You remember my son, Prince Edmund?"

Uther's face broke into a true smile this time and he clasped the prince's hand jovially. "Of course. Prince Edmund, wonderful to see you again. You've grown into a fine young man."

"Thank you, sire," Edmund said and his voice was filled with reverence and Arthur couldn't help but think that the other prince was putting it on a little thick. Then again, Arthur recalled that Edmund had always treated Arthur's father with more respect than even Arthur had – but it seemed that it wasn't  _sincere_  respect and admiration. When he was younger, Arthur hadn't really understood the way Edmund acted around Uther, but now it was obvious that Edmund was all part bootlicker, no part genuine.

Already feeling irritated at the man, even without having spoken one word to him or vice versa this visit, Arthur gritted his teeth. He heard a small snort from where Merlin was standing and snapped his head over to glare at his servant, who looked like he was on the verge of laughing. Gaius was already sending a quelling look in his ward's direction. Merlin, realizing that he may have snorted in suppressed laughter at a very inappropriate moment, covered his chuckle with a cough. Much to Arthur's – and Merlin's, from the "whoops" expression on his face – dismay, that only served to draw more attention to himself. Uther fixed him with a dry, annoyed stare and Edmund glanced over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes at the servant. A fierce wave of protectiveness crashed over Arthur at the look Edmund gave Merlin but once again pushed off the feeling. He was just being stupid, and if he was honest with himself, he was just as annoyed with Merlin's cracking up at Edmund's display of – there was no other word for it –  _prattishness_  himself.

A rather tense moment of silence followed and then everyone seamlessly returned to what they were doing, Merlin looking rather sheepish and Gaius on the verge of going into lecture mode right there in the middle of the hall.  _Honestly,_ Mer _lin,_  Arthur thought as he turned back to watch his fellow prince continue to schmooze his father,  _couldn't you have contained your amusement until there aren't two visiting_ nobles _in the throne room?_

At long last, the meeting in the throne room was over without any more awkward or embarrassing incidents, and for that, Arthur was grateful. He turned to leave the room, knowing that Edmund would be along shortly to have a servant show him to his room and bring his bags in. Arthur wanted to have a quick word with Merlin before, however, because Merlin needed to understand that Merlin could  _not_  talk to Edmund like he did Arthur. Granted, Merlin usually behaved himself when he was working for other nobility, but Arthur wanted to be sure Merlin understood the importance of being the "perfect" servant for people like Edmund, who thought that servants were nothing but dirt beneath the feet of the nobles. After all, Edmund didn't seem to have changed any since the last time, at least from what Arthur had seen of him in the throne room, and if that was the case, he would  _not_  stand for a servant speaking to him as an equal.

As he passed the servant in question, Arthur reached out and grabbed one of those big ears, yanking his servant out of the throne room by it. "Ow, ow, ow, ow!" Merlin yelped with every step, even though Arthur wasn't even pulling that hard. "OW!"

When they were a few yards down the corridor, Arthur released his servant, crossed his arms over his chest, and glared Merlin down. " _What_ ," he said slowly, enunciating every syllable of his question, "was that, back in the throne room?"

Merlin's face went blank for a moment (probably trying to remember what he'd done  _this_ time, Arthur decided) before he started to chuckle. "Did you  _see_  the way he was talking to your father in there? That was—"

"None of your business," Arthur cut in harshly. Merlin fell quiet, quirking an eyebrow.

"I would ask if you've had your breakfast this morning, but seeing as how I personally delivered it to your royal prattness this morning—"

"Merlin, shut up and listen to me for a minute. When you are bringing Prince Edmund's bags to his room, don't speak unless spoken to. Call him 'sire' or 'your highness'. Don't look him in the eye, and don't speak out of turn."

Merlin's eyebrows lifted higher. "You mean, be a floor mat?" Although Merlin could be subservient when he needed to be, he still didn't seem very impressed with the idea.

Arthur grinned a bit deviously. "Yep," he said cheerily, almost laughing at Merlin's dismayed expression. He was going to say something more, perhaps once again impress the importance of "being a floor mat" when around Edmund, just in case, but he thought he was worrying about nothing. Just because the visiting prince was still a brownnoser, it didn't mean that he was still cruel to those below him. Besides, before he could get the final warning out, a strong hand landed on his shoulder and a familiar, deep voice boomed from behind him. "If it isn't Prince Arthur!"

Arthur fought the urge to make a face in Merlin's direction while his back was turned to the newcomer but decided against it, not wanting Merlin to know how little he cared for Edmund. Instead he gritted his teeth just a little more and turned, face splitting into what he hoped was an easy grin. "Edmund Stafford. It's been a long time."

"Aye," Edmund agreed. He grinned, cracked his knuckles, and said, "And now that Cenred's land is ours, we'll sure to be seeing a lot more of each other."

Arthur nodded. "I suppose so." Edmund hadn't even thrown a single glance Merlin's way and Arthur was surprised, if not pleased. Once again he chided himself for stressing himself over a servant. While he may not be as harsh to his servants as Edmund had been, he certainly couldn't be  _worrying_ about them… even if one of them  _was_  the closest thing he'd ever had to real friend.

"So," Edmund said, voice haughty, instantly agitating Arthur, sounding as if he owned the place, "I'm going to my room, then. I'm assuming it's the same guest chambers I stayed in before?" Arthur nodded, jaw tight. He could feel Merlin's glare boring into his back – or rather, Edmund's front, he amended mentally, knowing that Merlin was less than impressed at Edmund's behavior. "Good," said Edmund, before finally turning to look at Merlin. Arthur pointedly ignored the way his gut clenched slightly as Merlin straightened and looked the prince in the eyes, almost defiant, for a moment before glancing at Arthur and lowering his eyes. "Bring my bags to my chambers, servant." He gave Arthur a cocky little wave before flouncing down the hallway.

Once he had disappeared from sight, Merlin turned to Arthur, eyes angry. "He is an even bigger prat than you!" he breathed, like the thought of someone being more of a prat than his master was something he had never thought possible. "I never—"

"Merlin," said Arthur, bringing a hand up and massaging the bridge of his nose. "Please. Just… go. Get his bags and take them to the guest chambers on the fourth floor in the west wing."

"The one that no one ever uses?"

"Those are the one. Edmund 'claimed' it for himself the first time he visited. When he was seven. And he's used it ever since."

Merlin snorted. "I'm not even going to call him a prat. Really, for him, that would be a compliment. Not to mention an insult to all the true prats out there." He grinned and looked pointedly at Arthur, who got the hint but pretended he didn't.

Arthur let out a small bark of laughter before remembering that Merlin didn't need to be encouraged in antagonizing or even being mildly, well,  _Merlin_  with Edmund. Voice stern, eyes hard, and in his best I-am-Arthur-do-my-will voice, he said, "Well? What are you waiting for? Go get his bags, bring them to him, and then get me my dinner. Tell him I'll have a servant for him to use while he's here if he doesn't already have one he can use."

Merlin suddenly looked a little wary. "You're not going to make  _me_  work with  _that_ , are you?"

"Hell, no. Not even  _you_  deserve to deal with Prince Edmund." Realizing that what he had just said was highly inappropriate, especially considering he was talking about a guest of his father's, and he glared at Merlin. "What do you think you're doing? Think you can get away with standing around and doing nothing all day? Get to it,  _Mer_ lin. And don't forget about my dinner."

Merlin shot him a withering look and bowed slightly, obviously annoyed, although Arthur correctly suspected that it was more with their arrogant visitor than Arthur himself. As Merlin walked off to collect Prince Edmund's bags, Arthur sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair, hoping that Merlin would listen for once and not get himself into any trouble. His stomach was slightly queasy but  _not_  with worry (because, as he'd already established, much to his conscience's exasperation, that he did  _not_  fret over servants) as he turned away and strode toward his chambers.

Once again, he told himself that he was overreacting. And, once again, the nervous tickle in his chest told him that he most certainly was  _not_.

* * *

Merlin couldn't believe the nerve of this  _Prince Edmund of Stafford_. What a stuffy name, he mused, for such a stuffy – no, stuffy was too complimentary for him – man. Honestly. Did the man even know what the word 'manners' meant? He'd always thought Arthur was obnoxious and full of himself, but compared to 'Stuffy Stafford,' as Merlin had just decided to call him (only in his mind, of course, he didn't think Arthur would approve of his new nickname and he  _knew_  Prince Edmund wouldn't be), Arthur was a humble servant. Of course, Arthur had changed a  _lot_  – more than Merlin the "other half of the coin," although he  _hated_  that phrasing, it sounded so… never mind… could have predicted – and was nowhere near the "prat" that he had been when he and Merlin had first met, so maybe it wasn't fair to compare Edmund to Arthur.

One thing that Merlin knew already was that he did  _not_  like Edmund Stafford. At all. Period. And despite what Arthur said, he wouldn't be a rug for the visiting prince to wipe his feet all over. He'd be respectful, yes, and the epitome of the "perfect servant" if Arthur advised him to, but he wasn't going to walk on eggshells around this prince, wasn't going to treat him like he was God's gift to existence. He was going to treat him like the other visiting nobles – none of them had had a problem with him. He was respectful to guests, as he would be to Edmund – but that didn't mean he had to  _like_  it.

Anyway, even if he did say something that got Edmund's pants in a wad, what was he going to do about it? Tell Uther on him? The king would just throw him in the stocks and be done with it – although Merlin didn't plan on doing anything to irritate his royal pain in the butt. Not intentionally at least. But what all his cluttered musings added up to was that even if Edmund was quick to anger, he couldn't actually  _hurt_  another prince's servant. That couldn't be allowed… could it?

Shaking off the dark thought, Merlin continued on his way to the visiting prince's chambers, loaded down with his bags, convinced that everyone who looked at him must have assumed that he was a pack mule in another life – because they sure  _treated_  him like one. And,  _yes_ , he knew he was a servant and that it was his job, but he wasn't the  _only_  servant in Camelot. He didn't see why one of Uther's servants couldn't help up with luggage duty for once – the job never failed to fall onto him. And it was usually through that job that he wound up getting into so much trouble because of things he'd found out while waiting on guests. He hoped that this time would be an exception. He  _really_  just wanted to get through this visit, have Edmund go home, and get back to the normal save-Arthur-and-get-no-credit-for-it-whatsoever routine.

He lugged the bags up three flights of stairs, sweating profusely by the time he reached the fourth floor landing. Panting, he dragged the trunk and several leather packs that seemed to be filled with armor, chunks of metal, or rocks until he reached the room. Sighing heavily, he tried to carefully set down one of the larger bags but it was awkward in his hands and it fell, falling to the ground with a clatter, spilling armor all over the floor. Merlin cursed and sprinted off after a helmet that was trying to make a great escape by rolling down the corridor. He chased the runaway headgear until it reached the end of the hallway, scooping it up and returning to clean up the rest of the mess. When he got there, however, he saw that someone else had beat him to the pile of bags and spilled armor and was glaring at him angrily as he returned with the helmet.

"Ah," Merlin said, eyeing Prince Edmund a bit warily, noting distractedly that the ginger-haired man was even paler than Merlin himself. "Er… sorry about that." He paused, Edmund raised an eyebrow, and Merlin quickly tacked on, "Sire. Sorry about that… Sire." He gave a thin chuckle. "I'll clean it up."

"Yes," Edmund said dangerously, taking a step closer. His eyes ran Merlin up and down before he snorted, apparently deciding that Merlin wasn't even worth it. "Yes, you  _will_. Now."

"Alright," Merlin said, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. He got to his knees, starting to gather the armor and pack it back, but was stopped when a heavy booted foot came down on his back, making him fall face first onto the floor and then pinning him there, the bottom of Edmund's foot pressing down on the small of his back. Merlin let out a little yelp, dropping the helmet – again – and sending it skittering across the floor. Again. Anger welled up inside of him and Merlin wondered if Arthur would mind if Edmund suddenly disappeared, only to turn up again as something small and insignificant – like a rat. That would be an animal that would fit him perfectly, Merlin decided as the boot stepped harder. Merlin fought for air, trying to squirm out from under the prince's shoe.

Edmund bent down and his hands laced into Merlin's hair, pulling his head up and hissing in his ear, "I heard you in the throne room. And I don't like your tone."

"I'm not particularly fond of yours, either," Merlin snapped back without thinking.

Growling, Edmund yanked his head back by the hair just a little further and Merlin hissed in pain. "Shut. Up. This is a warning. Watch your mouth. And watch your back. I don't tolerate insubordinate servants, and the Arthur I once knew didn't either. So I'm a little surprised that  _you_  are still his servant."

Hot anger flared in Merlin at the man's words and through the pain of his hair about to be ripped out of his head, Merlin seethed, "Arthur is a good man."

Ignoring Merlin's words, Edmund gave Merlin's hair one last tug. "Watch your step, _servant_. Or next time, I might not be so gracious." Footsteps sounded mounting the stairs and the shadow of someone coming up the stairs preceded whoever it was around the corner. The foot was taken from his back and Merlin gasped for breath, even as Edmund pulled him to his feet, gave him one last warning look, and ordered, "Clean it up." He disappeared into his room, slamming the door behind him.

Merlin glanced up to see who was coming around the corner and couldn't help but grin despite what had just happened. "Gwaine. What are you doing up here?"

Gwaine rolled his eyes dramatically and flipped his hair. "The  _princess_  sent me to 'fetch' you. Apparently he's too lazy to get off his arse and find you himself."

Merlin chuckled, still a bit shaken. He hadn't thought that Edmund would go so far as to threaten him like that, just for almost laughing (at Edmund, but still) and because he didn't like his "tone" – whatever that meant. And Merlin  _really_  wanted to try out an animal transformation spell on this spoiled, arrogant brat more than anything, but didn't think it would go over too well if Uther found out that Merlin had turned his best friend's son – a prince – into a rat or a rabbit or a frog. And then there was the whole issue of Merlin having magic… But still, as Merlin had told a fellow sorcerer some months before, it was  _hard_ lying down and acting like a shadow when you were powerful. The incident with Prince Edmund had not been an exception.

Gwaine must have noticed that Merlin was not all there at the moment and frowned, snapping his fingers in front of Merlin's face to get his attention. "Merlin? You alright?"

"I'm fine," Merlin said, a little too quickly. He glanced at the mess. "I've, er, got to get this cleaned up. Clumsy and all that, you know."

Gwaine studied Merlin for a moment before snorting and remarking, "Do I ever. But that's why we keep you around, to add some entertainment, yeah?"

Merlin smirked. "And we keep  _you_ around because…?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Gwaine joked, eyes twinkling. "Nobody wants to keep me around. They just do because they know that if they try to get rid of me, I'll just come back." Merlin knew that was a direct jab at Uther and found it quite amusing. True, Uther hadn't been happy at Arthur's decision to knight several commoners but there had been little he could do about it and now Gwaine, who had been banished for life on pain of death, and Lancelot, who had Uther didn't like but who had essentially banished himself, along with Elyon, who Uther didn't really know all that much about, were all knights of Camelot.

Gwaine became serious once more as he looked Merlin up and down. "You  _sure_ everything's okay?" His dark eyes fell on the mussed mop of hair on the top of Merlin's head.

Merlin self-consciously tried to smooth it down, nerves still on edge. "I'm  _fine_. But I've got to get this cleaned up. For Stuf—er, I mean, Prince Edmund."

"Ah. Him." Gwaine's tone of voice and two simple words said exactly how he felt about the young royal.

"Yes. And he's right inside his room," Merlin whispered, not wanting Gwaine to get in a fight with Edmund for talking about him like that. Merlin was already on his bad side and didn't want to drag anyone else into it, which was precisely why he wasn't going to tell anyone about this little encounter (and besides, with any luck, since he wasn't going to be working for Edmund, this would be one of the only times he'd interact with the prince).

"Hm." Gwaine grinned his lopsided, infamous Gwaine-grin, and patted Merlin heartily on the back. "Well, her royal highness – Arthur, I mean – "

"I know who you mean," Merlin chuckled.

"He wants you right away. Something about dinner and idiots and ale."

"Ale?"

"Oh wait," Gwaine amended, " _I_  was the one talking about ale. So sorry."

Merlin was about to respond, shaking his head in wonder at the way Gwaine always seemed to be able to cheer him up, but was interrupted as Edmund's harsh voice sounded from behind his door, muffled. " _I don't hear cleaning, servant!_ "

Gwaine rolled his eyes. "Go to Arthur. I'll do this."

Merlin shook his head hastily. "Don't. It's fine. I've got it." He  _really_  didn't want Edmund to walk out and find a  _knight_  doing a  _servant's_  job. The look on his pock-marked face might be amusing, but he didn't want Gwaine  _or_ himself, for that matter, into trouble.

"Merlin. I said, I've got it. You know how Arty gets when he's not got food."

Merlin cracked a small grin. "Do I ever." He cast another glance at the mess he made. "But…"

"Merlin. Don't make me get mean," Gwaine said, chortling, arms crossed over his shoulders. "Or should I say,  _Mer_ lin." It was an impressive impression of Arthur and Merlin laughed before turning away, nervous about letting Gwaine do the job for him. Still, Gwaine was nothing if not obstinate (and drunk two-thirds of the time, but really, that went without saying), so Merlin shuffled off to go fetch Arthur his dinner and hoped that he'd _never_  have to cross paths with that no good Prince Edmund again.


	3. Merlin's Fault

Merlin burst through the door to Arthur's chambers, panting slightly from his run across the castle. He hoped that he wouldn't have to make that trip often, from Stuffy Stafford's room to Arthur's, not only because he never even wanted to lay eyes on that pimply jerk ever again, but also because the two rooms were on opposite sides of the castle. Clutching at a stitch in his side, Merlin stood before his master, trying to get his breath back, as Arthur just stared at him. If he were to be completely honest with himself, it wasn't his haste to get to Arthur – because when had he ever been a stickler for being there  _right_  when the prat needed him? – and more to do with getting  _away_  from Edmund.

It wasn't that he was  _scared_  of the visiting prince – he knew he could floor him in an instant if his magic was involved – but… well, the prince unnerved him. And unnerved was  _not_  the same as scared. It was just that without using his magic against the royal, Merlin was all but helpless. It was his word against Edmund's if it came to something bigger. And Edmund hadn't just threatened him… he had intentionally humiliated and hurt him, too. The visiting prince, Merlin decided, was someone for him to avoid if it was at all possible. After all, Merlin didn't want to be arrested and executed for turning the man into a stoat or a toad or something. It was hard enough keeping his magic hidden as it was.

"Thank you for joining me,  _Mer_ lin," Arthur said, his voice far from amused. Merlin may have imagined it but he thought that Arthur's voice had a slight edge to it, tenser than usual – and somehow Merlin could sense that this new stress wasn't directed at him. "Now where's my dinner?"

Merlin stared at him blankly for a moment before smacking his forehead. Good heavens, he'd been so shaken up by the incident with Edmund that he'd completely spaced out about Arthur's lunch. "Er…" he said, "sorry, I'll go get it…" He moved for the door, trying to calm his shaky nerves.  _Get over it,_ he told himself firmly,  _he's just another prat trying to make a show of his power, just like Arthur when I first met him. He's nothing to worry about. Just a bully._  If that was the case, though, then why did Merlin's instincts tell him that Edmund was truly  _dangerous_? He didn't know if it was just his instant dislike for the man or his magic trying to warn him of potential danger (although, thankfully, not of the magical sort), but Merlin felt like he should be  _very_  wary of the prince. He shrugged off the strange feeling and turned his attention back to Arthur, who was regarding him, irritated.

Arthur arched an eyebrow before shaking his head wearily. "In a minute. First – what took you so long?"

"I, er, dropped some of Stuffy – ah, Prince Edmund's – things," Merlin admitted. He had already decided not to tell Arthur the whole story because the prince didn't need the extra stress when he was already having to deal with a spoiled brat like Edmund – Arthur didn't need anything that would make him less than civil to their royal guest because that would not look good politically, or for the two kings' friendship, not to mention the treaty. Also, Merlin stubbornly decided that he could handle this by himself. He wasn't helpless and he knew it. He would deal with whatever Stuffy Stafford decided to pitch his way on his own. He didn't need Arthur sticking up for him every time there was a threat. After all,  _he_  was the one that was supposed to be protecting Arthur, not the other way around. And anyway, in a few weeks, King Herbert and his obnoxious son would be going back to Stafford and Merlin wouldn't have to deal with Edmund any longer.

To Merlin's surprise, at his words, Arthur's eyes grew wide and a bit concerned before they narrowed, looking Merlin up and down almost as if the prince was checking his servant for injuries. Merlin narrowed his own eyes, getting the feeling that there was more about Prince Edmund that Arthur was keeping from him. Merlin was about to ask what was wrong when Arthur barked, "What happened?"

"Nothing," Merlin lied, knowing that even if Arthur pretended like he didn't care, he'd probably chew out Edmund for threatening Merlin anyway. The truth was that he and Arthur were friends – the best of friends, really – even if neither man would admit it, and Arthur would be less than pleased to find out what had happened outside of Edmund's chambers. Fighting the urge to rub his aching scalp, Merlin went on, "He just told me to clean it up and then Gwaine came along to find me—"

"Wait, Gwaine?" Arthur asked, rubbing his temples. "Why did  _he_ get you?"

"Uh, because you told him to… sire," Merlin answered slowly, giving Arthur a strange look.

Arthur grinned, apparently despite himself, and chuckled. "I didn't tell him to do anything. He's apparently decided that he was going to make sure you made it out of Edmund's room alive." Merlin's stomach twisted slightly as he realized that Arthur's words were only half-joking.  _Surely Edmund isn't_ that _bad,_  he assured himself.  _Arthur's just trying to scare me into being the perfect servant._

"I'm going to kill him," Merlin said, smiling slightly even as he did so, thankful that Gwaine was such a loyal friend.

"Any particular reason why you're planning on murdering one of my knights?" Arthur asked, both eyebrows now raised (although Merlin suspected in amusement).

"Because I don't need a babysitter!" Merlin responded. "I can take care of myself; I've been in Camelot a lot longer than Gwaine and I'm still alive!"

"How, though, remains a mystery," Arthur deadpanned, although Merlin could sense that the prince's mood had improved drastically. He got up and walked to his window, peering out of it distractedly. "Right, well, go get my dinner, Merlin, and then you can have the rest of the day off – I'm sure Gaius has plenty of herbs or whatever for you to pick for him."

Merlin grinned, knowing that Gaius had just sent him out for herbs the morning before, and pleased to have an afternoon off. "Thank you, sire," he said, beaming, "I'll get loads of work done for Gaius."

Arthur snorted. "I don't believe that for a second." As Merlin turned to leave, Arthur called him back and, almost as an afterthought, added, "No need to stop by the training field later, either. I'll be training with Edmund, I'm sure."

"I dunno," Merlin chuckled, "I'd kind of like to see you knock that man's ego down a few feet, you know?"

"No," Arthur said coldly and Merlin instantly recoiled, shocked by the ice in his master's eyes. "I  _don't_  know. When I gave you the evening off,  _Mer_ lin, it was because I want you to stay away from us – from me. So go do whatever you do when you're slacking off work and then get out of my sight – understand?"

Merlin blinked, taken aback by the harshness of Arthur's words and tone. The prince wasn't even remotely kidding. Blinking back the stinging sensation that was pressing at the corners of his eyes, Merlin nodded jerkily and left to fetch Arthur's dinner. He was so caught up in his own musings that he didn't hear the shaky sigh of relief that escaped Arthur's lips as the prince sunk down into his chair, massaging the bridge of his nose.

"Idiot," he muttered almost affectionately before dropping his head into his hands and waiting for the confused servant to bring him his dinner. It was for the best that Merlin not be there when he and Edmund were training. He did  _not_  want a repeat of the last time, and if hurting Merlin's feelings a little bit would save him from being pelted with knives, it was worth it. An image of his old servant's bloodied face popped into Arthur's head and he shoved it out, wondering vaguely if Lancelot had met up with Gwaine in the corridor outside of Edmund's room yet. Laughing slightly at the irony, Arthur felt marginally better that he was at least trying to do  _something_ to make sure his servant stayed out of harm's way, no matter how small that effort might be.

He  _had_  changed since the last time Edmund had been here, and he wasn't going to put on a farce just to impress that  _prat_  again. Never again.

* * *

"Gwaine?" Lancelot said, surprised, as he saw Gwaine neatly packing armor into a bag outside of Prince Edmund's door. Lancelot already  _detested_  the man. He was rude, spoiled, and Lancelot didn't trust him one bit. "What are you doing here?"

"Helping Merlin," Gwaine answered, grunting slightly as he lifted the heavy bag of armor. "Wow, you've gotta wonder how a skinny bloke like Merlin totes all this around, eh?"

Not to be deterred from the conversation, Lancelot demanded, "Where  _is_  Merlin?"

"I sent him to Arthur. Wanted to get him away from, well, y'know."

Lancelot sighed. "Do I ever," he said as Gwaine set the newly packed armor in front of Edmund's door before knocking a little  _too_  loudly to let him know it was there. Gwaine and Lancelot walked off, side by side, and continued their conversation. "I don't trust that man one bit," the black-haired knight declared. "Arthur doesn't either. I guess that's why he sent me to go get Merlin."

Gwaine grinned. "Nice. Good thing you didn't show up same time as me – you'd of ruined my plan."

Lancelot rolled his eyes and Gwaine changed the subject to crazy tavern stories, entertaining (more likely, exasperating) the man as they rounded the corner and headed back down the stairs.

After they'd left, the door to Edmund's room creaked open and the prince himself looked at the stairwell venomously before letting his eyes flicker to his armor by the door. Eyes narrowed to slits, he grabbed the bag of armor and retreated back into his room, thoughts of an infuriating little servant causing anger to well up inside of him.

* * *

"So," Edmund said as he took his dagger and threw it in a nearly perfect arc, watching in satisfaction as the point embedded itself into the target that had been set up beforehand, "where's your servant?"

He could instantly see Arthur's face tighten and his eyes become wary at his question.  _He doesn't trust me with his servant_ , Edmund thought.  _How interesting…_

"Merlin?" Arthur asked in a forced off-hand tone. "I gave him the day off."

"Why? You  _never_  used to give servants the day off, even when they were sick," Edmund reminded him, not liking the way Arthur had changed.

"What does it matter?" Arthur snapped, tossing his dagger and hitting the bulls-eye on the target, centimeters from Edmund's almost perfect shot. Edmund suppressed his irritation.

"He just doesn't seem like the type you'd have as your servant, that's all," Edmund remarked, retrieving his dagger and walking back toward his fellow prince. "He's clumsy, snarky, and from what I've seen, untrained." An idea was beginning to form in Edmund's mind. He knew precisely what had caused this immense, unsatisfactory,  _softer_  change in Arthur through these past years – from the protectiveness Arthur exhibited over the boy to the way they acted like  _friends_  instead of  _servant and master_ , it was obvious that none other than  _Merlin_  was responsible for the change in Arthur Pendragon. Edmund didn't like this at _all_. Arthur was becoming weak because he'd let a servant influence him. It ground the prince's nerves to see a royal acting like they were on the same level as their  _people_ , the filthy lowlifes that were only put on this earth to  _serve_  those over them. Some might see Edmund's views as a bit extreme but the Prince of Stafford was set in his ways.

_Majesty is might_ , he thought, repeating his old mantra in his mind, determined to fix Arthur's  _grave_ confusion about who and what were really important. After all, that's what friends did, right? Help other friends?

Arthur's response to Edmund's statement was firm. "Merlin is a good servant, loyal, and has saved my life many times."

"You've been saved by your  _servant?_ " Edmund sputtered, caught off-guard by this new information. This bond between master and servant might be more difficult to break than he thought this way. But he didn't necessarily have to break the bond, he decided, but simply get the servant back into his place so that Arthur would remember how worthless  _Merlin_ really was. A small smirk on his face, Edmund turned his head slightly so that Arthur wouldn't see. He'd help Arthur overcome this confusion about his mouthy, idiotic servant.

"Hmm," Edmund said softly. "Interesting."

He threw the dagger again, Merlin's face in his mind, and this time the knife hit the target dead center.

* * *

Merlin had gone to the armory after supper, not wanting to stay in his room any longer. He was still a little hurt by Arthur's fierce dismissal of him but had pushed it out of his mind, chocking it all down to his master just having a rough day. After all, Merlin had seen for himself what an absolute  _pig_  Edmund was and knew that Arthur was probably just as irritated about his presence as Merlin. So Merlin had let the matter drop, opting instead to go to the armory and get a head start on polishing Arthur's armor. Arthur had given him the evening off, but that didn't mean Merlin couldn't go to the armory. Arthur's orders had been to stay away from him, not from getting ahead on tomorrow's chores.

Sighing, Merlin shone Arthur's helmet, rubbing the same place over and over again, lost in his thoughts. Even though Merlin had decided not to worry about it, Arthur's words still rang in his head, taunting him with their coldness and anger. Shaking his head slightly, Merlin finally realized that he had been cleaning the same spot on the helmet for the past ten minutes and dropped the piece of equipment with a clatter, grinning slightly when he pictured Arthur's face tomorrow when he prattishly ordered his servant to clean his armor and found that it was already done.  _Sweet revenge,_  Merlin thought devilishly, no longer feeling bummed about Arthur's snappy retort earlier.

He was caught completely off-guard as a heavy hand fell onto his shoulder and pulled him to his feet, spinning him around so he faced the other way. Merlin forced his magic back down as it rose to protect him from this unknown threat. When he was turned around, Merlin locked eyes with none other than the King of the Prats himself, Prince Edmund. Merlin figured that he hadn't heard the man enter because of the helmet he'd dropped a few seconds ago.

"Hello," Merlin said in a strained voice as Edmund just looked at him, a dark gleam in his eyes as he shoved Merlin backward a few steps, making him crash into a table of armor, knocking it over.

Merlin couldn't stop himself. "That wasn't my fault that time," he said, pointing to the mess.

Edmund only smiled and the grin sent shivers of fear down Merlin's spine. "No," the prince said finally, "but Arthur isn't the same anymore, he's not the man I once knew, and that  _is_ your fault."

"Arthur," Merlin ground out despite his apprehension, "is a better man than you'll ever be."

"Hm," Edmund said, "interesting." Then he launched his fist, connecting it with Merlin's jaw and sending the servant tottering onto the pile of knocked-over armor with a wave of pain. "Now," said Edmund pleasantly, kneeling down beside Merlin and leering in his face as the boy tried to clear his vision and scoot away, but with no luck on either count, " _let's talk_."


	4. The Second Warning

Merlin's head pounded viciously as he struggled to sit up. His jaw felt like it had been loosened considerably, along with possibly a few of his teeth. That may have been a bit of an over-exaggeration, the boy mused, but not by much – that had  _hurt._  Edmund's face swam into view as his vision cleared, hovering right in Merlin's line of sight. At first Merlin's muddled mind didn't interpret what the bully had said but he got the picture soon enough as the prince grabbed Merlin by the neckerchief, dragged him into a standing position – Merlin choked, his air supply cut off by his own kerchief for a couple of seconds – and shoved him ruthlessly against the wall.

If this was talking, Merlin would eat his hat – and he didn't even own one! He struggled fruitlessly in Edmund's grasp, trying to wriggle free. His heart was pounding and his stomach muscles tensed up in anticipation of pain. He could see the manic gleam in Stuffy Stafford's eyes, the lust for blood. He'd seen it enough in the sorcerers that had tried to kill Arthur and his father, even some foreign knights that wanted to take down Arthur in a fight, like that snake, Valiant, who seemed like a  _charming_  fellow next to the man currently pinning Merlin against the wall of the armory.

"You can't do this," Merlin panted, trying to get his breath.

Perhaps he should have held his tongue because a moment later both of Edmund's strong hands were wrapped around his throat, squeezing. Merlin gagged; Edmund hadn't completely cut off his air supply but he could barely draw enough air through his constricted windpipe to breathe, let alone talk, and he fell silent, simply trying to get air into his hungry lungs.

"I  _can't_  do this?" Edmund hissed incredulously. "You're a  _servant!_ " He said the word like it was one of Gaius's vile tasting cold remedies. Merlin didn't have the energy to be offended. Edmund's grip on his throat had tightened and Merlin could barely breathe.

"I—I…" he tried to gasp out but he couldn't find the oxygen. He had to force his magic not to come to his aid, weakly bringing up his hands to try and pull Edmund off but the prince would have none of that. He pulled Merlin forward and then shoved him back, knocking his head against the wall, making the already dizzy boy see stars. The world was going blurry, his mind fuzzy, the corners of his vision going black.

"Shut up," Edmund spat fiercely. "And listen to me." Merlin had a hard time hearing anything, the way his ears were ringing.  _Can't breathe…_  He was beginning to panic, struggling as hard as he could to push the larger man away from him. The hands around his throat were like a vice, refusing to relent. Edmund shook him and Merlin spluttered wordlessly, vision going dim. The last words he heard before he blacked out completely were, "I'm here on Arthur's behalf. You have tried to change him, and nothing was wrong with him. And you  _will_  pay. Stop acting like you're good enough to interact with nobles and go back to being the  _scum_  of the earth." Finally the hands let go, something slammed into Merlin's side – hard – and then he slumped over, unconscious.

* * *

When Merlin woke up, he wasn't sure where he was. It was dark, that was for sure, and his head was screaming. Remembering what had happened, he winced and tried to bring a hand up to touch his tender throat – and couldn't. He tried to talk. He couldn't. Blinking several times rapidly, Merlin's eyesight adjusted to the darkness fractionally. He realized that he was somewhere small – there were walls on both sides of him, less than a foot away on either side, and he was leaning against another. The outline of flickering candle light through a door crack told him there was a door a couple of feet in front of him. He saw some shelves and buckets, along with blankets and towels, and realized that he must be in a closet. But then why…?

He cast his eyes down to see that his arms had been tied tightly in front of him – with his own neckerchief, nonetheless, and his ankles were bound together with his belt. Talk about adding insult to injury! A wad of cloth was lodged in his mouth. He struggled, knowing he could get out of this bind – pun intended – easily with his magic but unwilling to do so because he had a strong feeling he knew who had tied him up and stuck him in this closet and he couldn't let Edmund find out about his magic. Besides, his head was still swimming from a combination of its encounter with the rough stone wall of the armory and from passing out from lack of air. He didn't even want to see the welt he knew would be on the back of his head, or the bruises that would be encircling his neck, both courtesy of Prince Edmund.

He sighed heavily through his nose, leaning his head back against the back wall of the closet, trying not to be sick. He remembered what Edmund had said – that he was doing this on Arthur's behalf. Merlin knew that "Uther loves magic" would be a truer statement – like Arthur would actually send the beyond-pratty snob he disliked so much to "teach Merlin a lesson" – but still wondered if Arthur had complained to Edmund about his servant's "general uselessness" and had spawned this whole nightmare.

Merlin was jerked from his musings as the sound of a key scraping in the lock of the closet was heard. Merlin squirmed to sit up straighter, eyes locked on the outline of the door. A few seconds later, it opened, revealing the silhouette of Merlin's  _least_ favorite person at the moment. Edmund squeezed into the closet, shut the door behind him with a click, and turned to face Merlin.

"Well," he said, "you're awake. That's good. For a little while I was afraid I'd hit you too hard – I'd hate for you to die here, after all. You can't train a servant who's too dead to obey your orders."

Merlin's stomach lurched – not at the mention of death, but of the way Edmund said "train". Edmund reached forward and pulled the cloth out of Merlin's mouth. Merlin realized that it was actually a sock (that explained the strange taste) and although the idea of a dirty sock being in his mouth in general, the warlock sincerely prayed that it was one of his socks, and not Edmund's. "Train?" he asked, his voice cracking. He cringed as his throat adamantly protested talking and he wondered if Edmund had throttled him enough to damage his vocal cords. He doubted it but it still hurt to talk. "No one is going to 'train' me," he spat defiantly, ignoring his throat's protests. "I'm  _not_  a dog."

"That's debatable," Edmund said offhandedly and Merlin seriously considered turning the prince into a small, ugly excuse for a dog right then and there. "But yes, I am well known in my kingdom for the breaking and training of disobedient slaves."

"I'm  _not_  a slave," Merlin argued. "I'm a  _servant._ "

Edmund looked genuinely confused for a moment. "There's a difference?" he said, then chuckled darkly. "Either way, I'm sure the techniques are the same. And I've seen what a _terrible_ servant you are,  _Merlin_ , and I'm going to make sure you change so that Prince Arthur gets the kind of servant he deserves."

"Arthur," Merlin said, "won't let you near me, to 'train' or otherwise."

"Not yet," Edmund said mysteriously, "but he will soon. You'll see."

With that, the prince strode forward, untied Merlin's ankles and pulled him up to his feet, spinning him around much rougher than necessary to release his arms from his neckerchief. Before he did so, however, he grasped Merlin's hair in his hand and yanked the warlock's head back so far it was almost laying on the prince's shoulder. Merlin's neck screamed in protest, the bruises stretching and his breath hitching, but he didn't make a sound – he wouldn't give his assailant the pleasure. Instead he just breathed in sharply. "This is your second warning," Edmund hissed in his ear and his warm breath on Merlin's ear tickled. "Don't expect me to be so lenient next time. And if you know what's good of you, you'll keep this to yourself. I don't want Prince Arthur getting the wrong idea – I am  _helping_  him, after all, and you wouldn't want to interfere with that, now would you?"

He wrenched Merlin's neckerchief away from the man's hands before striding from the closet, leaving Merlin alone in the darkness. After a few moments of trying to get his breath back and ease his spinning head, Merlin, too, left the closet. Edmund was nowhere to be found and Merlin realized he had been in a servant supply closet – the rarely used one in the East Wing. He didn't know how Edmund had obtained the key but didn't dwell on it. He rounded the corner into the main corridor and saw through the large, ornate window at the end that it was dusk. He'd been attacked by Edmund early afternoon, after bringing Arthur his lunch, so that meant he'd been stuffed in the closet for nearly six hours. No wonder he was so stiff and sore. If this was one of Edmund's techniques to "train" servants, locking them in a closet, he  _really_  didn't want to be introduced to the others.

But there was no way Arthur would let Edmund try and break Merlin. Even if the prince had snapped at Merlin earlier, they were still friends. Arthur would stick up for him. But Edmund had seemed so sure when he'd said that soon Arthur would allow it. What did that even mean? Merlin shrugged off the terrible prospect. Edmund had probably just been trying to give him a scare.

He wondered if Arthur had been worried about him since he'd been missing for so long but then remembered that the prince had given him the evening off and had basically told him to shove off. He would have told Gwaine and Lancelot that during training and since Merlin had a habit of disappearing for hours at a time – sometimes to go sit by Freya's lake, other times to pick herbs, and sometimes, although Arthur and Gwaine didn't know it, to practice magic or save the kingdom from crazed sorcerers hell-bent on killing the royals and razing the city to the ground.

All that to say that no one, not even Gaius, had missed him. That was probably why Edmund had decided to attack him then, he realized, because Arthur had told him he'd given his servant the day off. Edmund had made his move cunningly.

It was more than obvious that the spoiled, arrogant prince didn't want Merlin to tell Arthur. It hadn't been just a friendly suggestion that he keep this "conversation" to himself. It didn't matter, though, because the servant wasn't planning on telling Arthur anyway. If the prince found out that Edmund had hurt, tied up, and stuffed Merlin in a closet, he would react – probably in an angry, maybe even violent, manner. And attacking – verbally or otherwise – the son of his father's best friend would  _not_ bode well for Arthur  _or_  any peace negotiations.

For Arthur's sake, and the sake of Camelot, Merlin would once again get the short end of the stick. It wasn't that much different from usual, really. Except this time, he was being physically abused by someone, not just confined to the stocks. It didn't matter. He couldn't put Camelot or Arthur on the line. He'd just have to deal with it, but there was no way that he was going to let Edmund think he scared him. He wasn't going to go down without a fight, that was sure.

Despite what everyone thought, Merlin was  _not_  weak and  _not_  an idiot – although even Gaius would sometimes argue the last one. He wasn't going to let anyone push him around, royal or not. And even if he couldn't use his magic directly against Edmund, maybe he could fight back discretely…

Merlin smiled grimly at the idea of making a shield fall on Edmund's head or conjuring a puddle of water for the man to slip on…

No, he wouldn't stoop to Edmund's level but he  _wouldn't_  just lie down and let the prince walk all over him. And if Merlin got angry enough to start using his magic to subtly fight back, all the better.

His small grin faded as he approached Gaius's chambers. Now all he had to do was find a way to hide his injuries and when you lived with the court physician, that was not an easy feat. Groaning, Merlin realized that keeping what had happened from Arthur was going to be just as hard, if not harder.

It was a good thing he had to lie for his life on a daily basis, even if he was still terrible at it – because it seemed that he was going to have to do a  _lot_  more of it until Stuffy Stafford was on his way home – and that day couldn't come soon enough.


	5. Secrets, Plots, and Secret Plots

Miraculously, Gaius wasn't in his chambers when Merlin returned. There was a note on the table next to a cold bowl of soup that said the physician had had an emergency birth to help with in the lower town and wouldn't be back until later into the night. Sighing in relief as he ignored the food and stumbled up the stairs into his small bedroom, shutting the door behind him, Merlin was grateful that he wouldn't have to try and hide this from tonight. He collapsed on his bed, utterly exhausted, before his pounding headache reminded him of the wound on the back of his head.

He groaned, got up, and using the basin of water Gaius had left for him to clean up with, he washed the small wound as well as he could on his own before finally, gratefully falling into bed, leaving his neckerchief on to hide the ring of bruises around his throat from Gaius if he came to check on him. He was ready for a good night's sleep to help ease some of the new aches and pains he had acquired today. Too bad his mind was whirling with all that had happened, what he would do if someone found out about what Edmund had done to him, and how he was going to survive the next few weeks as the visiting prince's punching bag. When he did fade into a restless sleep, he dreamed of Edmund's face leering at him, taunting him about how Arthur was just going to hand Merlin over to the other prince.

It wasn't a pleasant night and when the sun peeked over the horizon and bathed the young warlock tossing and turning in its bright rays, Merlin found that he was even more exhausted than he had been the night before.

* * *

Arthur knew there was something off about his servant from the moment Merlin walked through the door. While the man was still talking nonsense, he seemed more sullen and distracted than usual. Merlin was definitely tired, dark bags under his normally lively eyes and he seemed jumpy. He moved cautiously as if he was trying to protect himself and instead of simply turning his head to look at the prince when he had his back turned, Merlin would turn all the way around – slowly, carefully. Arthur frowned as he watched Merlin go about stoking the fire and getting his clothes ready for the day. The prince was sitting at his table, eating his breakfast and trying to figure out what Merlin was acting so skittish about today.

"Merlin,  _what_  is your problem?" Arthur finally asked as Merlin yawned for the umpteenth time and toyed with his neckerchief absently.

Merlin jumped – again – and glanced around the room before his gaze landed on the prince. "What?" he asked, his voice faraway.

"For heaven's sake," Arthur griped, "you are more useless than usual today,  _Mer_ lin."

"I ought to be, since you're more of a prat than usual," the servant retorted, a bit of his normal smile twitching at his lips. "Balances your unnaturally large ego out a bit."

Arthur couldn't help but snort in laughter before quickly glaring and covering up his amusement by standing up, striding regally behind the dressing screen, and ordering, "Since you insist on being  _so_ amusing today, why don't you go entertain the other servants and take my plates back to the kitchens while I get dressed, eh, Merlin?"

His tone was teasing but Merlin hardly noticed as he dipped his head submissively. If Arthur hadn't been behind the screen, he would have seen the brief wince of pain that flitted over his servant's face at the movement. Gritting his teeth at the pain of the small movement of simply nodding his head, Merlin said, "Yes, sire," before hurrying out of the room, nerves on edge. Arthur had known something was wrong – Merlin could tell by the way he kept shooting strange glances at him and trying to goad him into being all cheerful and smart-mouthed like usual. He didn't want to lie to Arthur, especially about something as big as this, but he couldn't take the risk of the peace treaties falling through because Arthur lashed out at Edmund out of anger.

After Merlin had left the room and Arthur had gotten dressed, there was a knock on the prince's door. Arthur knew it wasn't Merlin because, well… whoever it was had  _knocked_. "Come in," he ordered, fully expecting a nervous servant or page from his father, maybe even Guinevere or Gaius – sadly, that was not the case. The door swung open to reveal none other than Prince Edmund of Stafford. Arthur groaned mentally but strode forward with what he  _hoped_ was a convincing smile on his face.

"Ah, Edmund," he said. "What brings you here… so early…?"

Even though Edmund had let the subject of Merlin drop after the training session yesterday, Arthur still felt uncomfortable around the other prince – almost like he was betraying Merlin by being civil to Edmund. That was ridiculous, he knew, because the worst Edmund had done was treat Merlin like he didn't exist – and Arthur knew from past experience of hanging around the prince that it was  _far_  better to be ignored by Edmund than the alternative.

Still, the memory of his old manservant bleeding and terrified after the knife grazed his head still haunted Arthur and lately, to his utter humiliation, instead of the other man's face, he kept seeing  _Merlin_  in his place. The mental image was so utterly  _wrong_  that Arthur felt guilty for even thinking it, then annoyed because he knew the only reason he  _was_  thinking that way was because he was worried about the idiot. That would lead to bewilderment because he knew that as the prince, he wasn't supposed to  _care_  this much about servants. Then again, Merlin wasn't only his servant, and Arthur knew that, even if he was hard-pressed to admit it, the servant was his  _friend._ And the thought of his  _friend_  being bullied, maybe even  _injured_  by the smug young prince standing in the doorway brought chills to Arthur's spine.

There was no way in hell that Arthur was letting Edmund touch his servant.

"I couldn't help but notice," Edmund said casually, leaning against the door frame, "that your servant is the most disobedient and mouthy one I've ever seen."

Arthur felt wary at the mention of Merlin. "I can handle my own servants, thanks," he muttered.

"I don't know." Edmund scratched his chin as if in deep thought. "I didn't think that you would have let a mere  _serving boy_ talk to you so insolently."

Arthur felt a flare of fierce anger swell up inside of him as he realized that Edmund had been eavesdropping on his and Merlin's conversation. He calmed himself down, reminding himself that Edmund could have simply been walking by and heard a snatch of the "early morning banter". Not really believing it himself, Arthur narrowed his eyes fractionally and replied coldly, "What I do and say to my own servants really doesn't concern you, Prince Edmund. I handle them my own way and it works for me."

Edmund's lips were tight but he nodded slowly. "Of course," he said, his face muscles tensed as if he were having to physically restrain himself from responding. "I understand." Arthur didn't believe that Edmund understood at all but simply dipped his head to acknowledge the man's words. "I will see you on the training field later?" the visiting prince suggested, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course."

They parted ways, the tension in the air between them almost tangible.

* * *

Edmund was beyond furious. He hadn't expected Arthur to act so coldly to him this morning, especially since he had taken special care yesterday evening not to mention Merlin because he knew that, for some reason, the matter of the mouthy servant that needed to be shown his place was a touchy one for Prince Arthur. If he was going to help the prince realize what his priorities were again, he had decided he would have to do it a bit more subtly. He had not mentioned that serving brat the rest of the evening – the same servant that had been trussed up and stuffed in a closet at the time – so that Arthur wouldn't think Edmund was being too pushy. After all, he  _was_  just trying to help a friend, right?

He smirked but the expression melted off his face almost instantly as he recalled Arthur's chilly reaction to seeing him and the quick, snappish retorts about how he knew how to handle his own servants (which he couldn't, obviously, or he wouldn't be letting " _Mer_ lin" talk to him like an… like an equal). Arthur should have been relaxed, more at ease, about the issue of the servant but instead he was tenser, more guarded – maybe even a bit angry. In Edmund's slightly one-track mind, that could only mean  _one_  thing – the servant had talked.

Jaw set tightly, Prince Edmund hastened down the hallway and toward the direction of the kitchens, where he knew Merlin had gone to take Arthur's dishes. This  _had_  to stop and Edmund was going to put an end to this socially unacceptable, rank-defying "friendship" this servant apparently thought he could have with his  _prince_  when in actuality he wasn't even worthy enough to lick his boots.

Yes, Edmund vowed, more determined than ever, to put an end to Merlin's insolence for good, one way or another… And he would pay for changing Arthur, that was certain. Edmund would see to it  _personally_.


	6. It Begins

Merlin had already left the kitchens to bring Arthur his breakfast when Edmund arrived. He scowled, not pleased at all that he was going to have to wait. His anger at the servant that was trying to overstep his rank by acting  _casual_  with Prince Arthur, pretending to be his friend (not to mention his less than subservient attitude and lip), was growing by the minute. Edmund had a different view on life than Arthur, that was certain. And Edmund was fine with that – different wasn't necessarily bad. But when the differences threatened the pre-ordained hierarchy of society, the power of those who were  _born_  into power, when they try to break down the barriers between "worthy" and "irrelevant" – that was when a stop had to be put to them.

Arthur seemed to have trouble understanding how important it was for his slaves – servants, whatever – to know  _who_  was the boss. Training those who existed only to serve you wasn't hard, really – much like training a dog, except  _far_  more delicious. A chill of anticipation spread down Edmund's spine as he remembered the servants he had trained back home, in Stafford. The power he held over them was  _enormous._  It was  _intoxicating_. He could tell one of his personal servants to chop their own finger off and they'd do it – not because they were so loyal to their prince, perhaps, but because they knew the consequences of not obeying would be  _far_  steeper than a missing digit. He had always enjoyed using his power – that  _was_  why he was given it, after all, why he was born into a royal family, after all – but this newest project, his newest target, was the most exciting yet.

Maybe it was because he was taking a risk. Merlin  _wasn't_  his servant, at least  _not yet,_ and yet he had already disobeyed a direct order  _not_  to tell Arthur about what had happened yesterday _._  He knew that he had to be careful about his methods until Merlin  _did_  belong to him. Arthur apparently had some sort of affection for the boy – totally unwarranted and something that would be easily squashed with a little manipulation – and that presented more of a challenge. But really, Arthur should be  _thanking_  Edmund, not  _fighting_ him. After all, Edmund was only helping him come to his senses. Arthur had lost sight of the bigger picture of the world. There were two types of people: Those with the  _right_  to sovereignty and those  _without_. There was no gray area, only black and white. No in-between. No mediator. You were either a royal or a peasant. If you were a royal, YOU were in charge. You held supreme power and those without it answered only to  _you._ Peasants should be aware of their place and go by it. No friendships or allegiances between those at the top of society and those at the bottom. It was just the way things were, and would remain. Arthur _needed_  to see this.

All that to say that Edmund was going to take on his biggest project ever – not only was he going to train that disobedient, mouthy servant, break and grind him into the dirt that he was, but he was also going to help Arthur realize who his  _real_  friends were. He grinned, anticipating the chance to use his power again. And he'd get back at  _Merlin_  for changing Arthur along the way.

This was going to be  _fun_.

* * *

Later that evening, Merlin was in the armory once again, this time shining and putting away Arthur's equipment after training. The prince was currently in an audience with his father about taxes or something and the prince had told Merlin to "stop wasting time and clean my armor." Thankfully, Arthur's mind had been elsewhere most of the day and he had seemed to have forgotten about Merlin possibly being injured. This was a relief because quite frankly, Merlin was getting  _sick_  of lying,  _especially_  about something that involved his own safety. He had been temped several times to blurt out the whole story and get Arthur's help, but he'd stopped himself. He  _couldn't_ bring Arthur into this, not now, not while so much hinged on this peace treaty between Camelot and Stafford.

Merlin was still incredibly sore from yesterday. His head pounded and he wished he could have found something in Gaius's stores to ease the pain, but didn't want to just try  _any_ potion. For one, Gaius had an odd habit of leaving bottles of poison out in the open where anyone could get them – that was one potion Merlin  _really_  didn't want to taste by accident. Secondly, if Merlin drank from just any "remedy," he could wind up as a horny-eyed toad, and while that was definitely a fate he'd like to see befall Stuffy Stafford, it wasn't something he'd like to see in his future. So he suffered in silence. His stomach and ribs were sore from the brief beating, but his neck was the worst. He hadn't looked at his reflection to see the damage yet, mostly because he was too anxious about taking off his neckerchief. If someone walked by and saw him with a ring of bruises around his neck, it would be over. He couldn't even begin to imagine Arthur's reaction if he knew about it.

On a whim, as his curiosity finally got the best of him, Merlin glanced around to see that the armory door was shut and there was no one around before he slipped off the cloth around his neck, wincing as it brushed against the bruises. Swallowing heavily – which certainly didn't help the pain – he used the freshly-shined breastplate of Arthur's armor as a mirror, examining the damage.

Even in the silvery reflection, slightly distorted by the curvature of the plate, Merlin could see how extensive – and colorful – the results of Edmund's "talk" last night. He sucked in a breath, shocked at the two vivid hand-shaped bruises printed boldly on the tender, pale flesh of his neck like they had been painted there. They were varying shades of colors, the deepest, center part of the bruises black, fading toward the edges to dark blue, then purple, a sickly green color, and a ring of yellow around the marks really set off the whole "rainbow". Merlin stared, angered and flabbergasted by the picture Arthur's breastplate had offered him, and thought that these had to be the most violently colorful and painful collection of bruises he had ever seen, let alone  _had_ , and wondered how on  _earth_  had he managed not to have his throat permanently injured by Edmund's abuse.

Feeling sick at the sight, Merlin grabbed his neckerchief, wanting – needing – to put it back on to hide the evidence of what had been done to him – what he was  _allowing_ to be done to him, no matter how noble the cause – but stopped and froze when the armory door opened. Fearing that Arthur had come to find him after the meeting with his father – which really didn't make sense, since he'd only been in the meeting for ten minutes now, and everyone in Camelot knew how King Uther liked to drone on and on and on… - Merlin closed his eyes, trying to think of an explanation for the bruises.  _Oh, hi, Arthur? What, these? That's nothing. Gaius gave me a new shirt and it was_ really _tight, and when I finally wrenched it off, it had made these beauties! Why are they shaped like hands, you ask? Well because I was trying to squeeze my neck in to fit the tunic_  over  _it, of course._

No. That  _had_  to be the  _worst_  lie to Arthur that Merlin had  _ever_  imagined – and had he concocted a  _lot_  of lies since coming to Camelot!

As it turned out, Merlin would have been perfectly satisfied with an angry and worried Arthur demanding answers  _now_  to what – who, Merlin hadn't quite decided yet – had really entered the room. "Hm," said Edmund's hateful, haughty voice, this time laced with such anger that Merlin had never heard, even from the visiting prince himself. "I see that you're admiring my handy work. What do you think? Turned out quite nice, don't you agree?"

Merlin felt tears of anger and injustice prick the corners of his eyes but he willed them away. Oh, how he wanted to turn around, eyes blazing gold, and transform that stupid, arrogant excuse for a royal into a cockroach or a dung beetle, or even a pile of dung, for that matter! Pushing most of his aching pride and burning fury down, Merlin stood and turned, his eyes blazing, but not gold. Still, his contempt for Edmund was probably – more like _definitely_  – burning in his blue eyes as he locked gazes with the prince, straightened his back, and said, "I'm  _not_  afraid of you, Edmund."

Edmund choked, strode forward, and all but tackled Merlin, pinning him to the wall again, this time with his hand meshed in Merlin's hair. Merlin didn't struggle, only held the man's gaze and tried his hardest not to do something that could endanger Camelot. "What did you say?" Edmund hissed, spittle flying into Merlin's face.

"I  _said,_ " Merlin enunciated, "that you do not scare me. I don't know what kind of warped philosophy you have about life and people, but it's  _wrong_."

"You know nothing!" Edmund snarled, his free hand moving to gently caress one of the massive bruises on Merlin's exposed neck. The soft touch hurt just as bad as it had when Edmund had squeezed his neck before. Merlin felt tears of pain spring to his eyes as Edmund's smooth, cold hand groped around at his neck, pressing in the very  _center_  of the bruise, where the color was darkest and where the pain radiated from. Merlin hissed. "You _will_  learn respect," he added, releasing Merlin's throat and bringing back the hand to slap Merlin across the face.

Before he had a chance to follow through on his swing, Merlin countered, voice strong and angry. "It's  _you_  that needs to learn," Merlin informed him, knowing he was going to pay dearly for his words but not regretting them in the slightest even as Edmund's arrogant face contorted in rage. "Because you know  _nothing_  of what really matters –  _friendship, loyalty, honor, trust_." A little twinge of guilt reared its head, reminding him that he still kept secrets from Arthur – big, dangerous secrets – but he flicked the thought away. Now  _definitely_ wasn't the time to be feeling guilty about such things.

Edmund loomed in Merlin's face, the grip on the servant's dark hair making Merlin feel like his hair was being ripped from his scalp. "You  _changed_  Arthur,  _and_  you disobeyed a  _direct_ order from  _me._ "

Merlin furrowed his brow. " _Arthur_  is a good man; has always been. He just needed a nudge in the right direction. And as for the armor, I was ordered by a knight of Camelot to let them help me put it up –"

Edmund laughed. "You think this is about the  _armor_?"

"Well, I did," Merlin said slowly, eyes narrowing at the hateful light in Edmund's eyes. No, forget  _hateful_  – it was  _murderous_. "Up until you chuckled like that, but now..." He tried to inch out of Edmund's grasp, realizing that this wasn't just some little petty grudge carried over from last night. Edmund was seriously  _enraged_  about something, something  _big_.

Edmund got over his surprise at Merlin's pluck and let his hand fly, striking Merlin  _hard_ across the face. "You. Told."

Merlin gasped, trying to get his breath back after that particularly brutal blow. "No," he gasped. "I wouldn't risk the peace treaty for the likes of  _you_." He was screwed, he knew it as soon as the words left his mouth. He found he didn't care all that much, though, because that  _needed_  to be said. He knew he wasn't about to change Edmund like he'd helped Arthur hone in on the great man he was inside – there was obviously no great and noble king lying dormant inside of Edmund. Either way, though, Merlin couldn't just stand by and take this. It wasn't in his nature. Most people saw him as weak, not much of anything, idiotic, useless, but most would also agree that he was stubborn and unafraid to speak for what was right. And this, this  _wasn't_ right.

He didn't have any more time to contemplate the consequences of his words because seconds later, Edmund was on him in a flurry of fists and kicks and Merlin was just trying to guard himself from the vicious blows raining down on him from the furious prince, literally having to  _force_ his magic not to strike out at Edmund in his defense, no matter how much it (and  _he_ ) wanted it to – unfortunately, the use of magic in this situation would make things much more complicated.

A fist launched into his face, a foot into his shin. Something hard slammed into his nose and blood ran down his face. At some point, Merlin wasn't pinned to the wall anymore, but was lying on the ground, trying to wiggle away from his assailant futilely. His whole body was a mess of pain and bruises and he was trying to swat Edmund away, fight him off weakly, which only made him angrier, more violent. "You  _will_  learn respect!" Edmund said again.

And then the armory door swung open again, this time revealing a flurry of protective prince, and Merlin felt both relief and dread fill him as Arthur strode purposefully into the room, face a mask of hatred as he looked from the bloody, bruised servant lying on the ground and Edmund standing imposingly over him. Arthur's fist curled but miraculously, he restrained himself, instead standing there, eyes fixed murderously on the other prince. When he spoke, his voice was harsh and barely contained the fury in his gaze.

"Stay  _away_  from him."


	7. Confrontation

The meeting with his father hadn't lasted nearly as long as Arthur had anticipated. He'd been planning on a long, drawn out, and  _boring_  conference in the council room about taxes and finances, but as it turned out, Uther had plans to go riding with King Herbert in a few minutes, so he had just highlighted some must-know information for his son before sending him on his way. Arthur was pleasantly surprised – his father hadn't had any true leisure time since… well, Arthur could barely remember a time when his father had gone out, just for the fun of it. This was good for him. Of course, it also meant that Arthur basically had the evening "off" as well, meaning he could take a hot bath, have a nice, long dinner, and relax before going to bed.

He frowned, wondering where Merlin had gotten off to. He couldn't be too far since it was just minutes before that Arthur had dismissed him for the next couple of hours to do whatever chores were in need of doing. Maybe he was even still hanging around Arthur's room. Arthur decided to head back that way, hoping to snag the servant and order him to draw him a bath and fetch his dinner. The prince kept a sharp eye out for Edmund, too, as he walked through the corridors, because he  _really_  didn't want to bother with the other prince right now. If he saw the man coming, Arthur decided that he might very well dive into the nearest hallway or unlocked door just to avoid him – Arthur was hoping for a stress-free evening, and Edmund, well, he was guaranteed to provide just the opposite.

Arthur had to pass the armory on his way to his chambers and as he drew closer to the door, he noted that it was shut. Not unusual, exactly, although most servants liked to leave it open when they were working, whether to feel more connected with the rest of the castle or for air, Arthur didn't know. Merlin was one of the exceptions, usually deeming to close the door and work alone. He supposed that the shut door could mean Merlin was in the armory, working, but, he thought, snickering, that would mean that Merlin was actually _doing_ his job and showing some  _initiative_. No, he decided, whoever was in there last probably just closed it as they were leaving.

As he grew even with the door, he stopped, having heard a sound from behind the closed door. A grunt, someone speaking harshly, a cry of pain, the crashing of metal. Arthur rolled his eyes. No doubt Sir Gwaine was getting into another fight with one of the other knights. He had gotten into a bit of trouble for fighting with the noble knights because of their snide comments about he, Lancelot, Elyan, and Percival, not coming from noble blood and therefore not being worthy of the knighthood bestowed upon them. Arthur had spoken with the offenders as well, but it was highly possible that Gwaine was still getting into tiffs over the other knights' rudeness.

 _Honestly, Gwaine_ , Arthur thought,  _can't you give me even_ one _evening of peace?_

He swung open the door to the armory, fully expecting to see Sir Gwaine with another knight, perhaps Sir Owen or Sir Aaron, in a headlock, demanding them to stop being arrogant pigs – or worse, Gwaine with a broom, trying to take a whack at Sir Ronald's head (that had only happened once, but still, it was something Arthur didn't want to see occurring again, no matter how… amusing… it may have been in hindsight). The sight that greeted him, though, was one so terrible, so totally and utterly  _wrong_ , that he knew instantly it was one he would never,  _ever_  forget.

Prince Edmund was standing in the middle of the armory, fists clenched. His back was to Arthur but the prince of Camelot could almost  _see_  the gloating smirk on his face nonetheless. There were small spots of a dark liquid – blood – splattering the ground near his feet, and as Arthur followed them with his eyes, they led his gaze to a beaten, bloody form on the floor. His stomach clenched, his eyes locked on the trembling servant lying in a heap at Edmund's feet.

Anger filled him to the brim, starting at the very core of him and eating its way through his body, the hatred worming its way through his bloodstream. His vision had gone red, his mouth set in a hard, tensed line, and his eyes, he knew, were blazing so furiously that if Edmund were looking at him right now, he would have been a fool not to cower under the intense glare. Arthur's hands were clenched into fists on either side, fingernails biting mercilessly into the palms of his hands. His body was tensed, his fingers itching to wrap themselves around Edmund's throat and shake him until he begged for mercy.

How  _dare_  he? How dare he do this to  _his_  servant? To  _Merlin_ , of all people?  _What_ had Merlin done to deserve this? And just  _what_  gave Edmund the idea that he could go around abusing other people's servants, other's friends?

Ignoring the over-protective, irrational, enraged part of his mind that wanted to run that rat through then and there, Arthur did the next best thing – he spoke, his voice dripping with ferocity and unrestrained venom. "Stay  _away_  from him!"

Edmund didn't turn at first, although Arthur could see Merlin, apparently still conscious, moving weakly on the ground, as if trying to get up – probably trying to get away from Edmund and to  _his_  prince and  _real_  master. Arthur didn't blame him in the slightest, but he didn't know how badly Merlin was hurt and didn't want to move him just yet. "Merlin, stay there," he ordered.

Merlin, for once, did what was asked of him, and fell still, although Arthur suspected that this docile obedience probably had more to do with the pain from the boy's injuries than actual subservience.

His back still to Arthur, Edmund spoke, his voice eerily sure of himself. There was a hint of exhilaration in his tone, though Arthur barely noticed because of the roaring anger. "Don't worry, Prince Arthur," the visiting prince said slowly. "I'm fixing the problem – you won't have to deal with his uselessness much longer."

Arthur blinked.  _What the hell?_  Edmund was trying to  _help_ him? Shaking his head slightly, Arthur found he didn't care if that was or was not why Edmund had just beaten his servant half to death. "Stay away from him," he hissed again, the threat clearly etched in every syllable.  _Get away from my servant before I do something that we both regret. Or that only you'll regret. I really couldn't care less at this point._

Now Edmund turned around, his expression saying that he wasn't at all fazed by Arthur's presence. "Why?" he countered, sneering, and Arthur was almost shocked at the almost crazed look in Edmund's eyes. "He's just a mouthy servant. He needed to be taught a lesson."

Arthur glanced at Merlin, who hadn't moved since Arthur had told him to stay. His heart nearly broke, seeing Merlin in such a terrified, vulnerable state. Merlin should be running around after Arthur right now, mouthing off and making smarmy comments that Arthur would pretend to hate but actually enjoy. He shouldn't be huddled on the armory floor, bruised and bleeding.

Arthur didn't respond immediately. Instead, he walked past the royal pain, face set in stone, and his hands were most definitely  _not_  shaking as he reached down to help Merlin to his feet. He knew the servant probably didn't feel like moving right now, but Arthur wanted to get him as far away from that sick excuse for a prince as he could. He cringed in sympathy as Merlin shifted, moaned, and slowly, almost hesitantly, held out his hand, grasping onto Arthur's. Carefully, Arthur got Merlin to his feet, though the boy had to lean on his master for support. Most of Merlin's weight was on Arthur but he found he didn't care.

Merlin gasped in pain, holding his stomach, and Arthur looked him over hastily, appalled at the sight that greeted him. Merlin's face was a mess of forming bruises. There was blood staining his face and the front of his shirt, still leaking from his nose. One of his eyes was swollen and puffy. Arthur moved his gaze down and nearly killed Edmund on the spot. Instead of Merlin's customary neckerchief, Merlin's bared throat was decorated with one of the most grotesque and painful sets of bruises Arthur had ever seen – and they were  _hand_ shaped. Merlin looked like he had been choked to death. The bruises looked a little too colorful to be a product of whatever Edmund had just been doing, so that meant… Arthur fought back the tiny pinpricks of stinging pain behind his eyes as he realized this… it meant that this wasn't the first time Merlin had been hurt by Edmund.

Arthur was beyond angry now, and not just at Edmund – but at himself, too. He had sworn that he was going to keep Merlin safe from the prince, but he'd not done much of anything to enforce that decision. He'd trusted Edmund with a little more interaction with his servants, hoping that he might have changed a bit. He had allowed Merlin to show him to his room, had thought about directly warning Merlin about the way Edmund used to be, but hadn't. And now Merlin was hurt by Edmund's hand.

Glaring daggers at Edmund, Arthur snarled, "You had  _no right_ —"

Edmund, a flash of irritation racing across his expression, snapped, "You've lost your sense of priority! The Arthur  _I_  knew—"

"Has grown up since your last visit," Arthur finished coldly, his stare icy. He growled, "Get out of my sight, and don't  _dare_  touch him again." Oh, how Arthur wanted to kill Edmund right now – he  _seriously_  needed to remove the temptation, because Edmund and a room full of swords and other sharp objects was beginning to mess with Arthur's good sense.

Edmund, for his part, simply smirked – the kind of amused, evil smile that suggested he knew more than he was telling – and sauntered out of the room, leaving Arthur and Merlin alone with their respective guilt and anger, and pain.

When he had gone and Arthur turned to see that while he had been talking – or yelling – to Edmund, the servant had passed out with his head lolling on Arthur's shoulder, the prince began to  _really_  wish he'd just let Edmund have it, planted a fist right into that smug face.

He sighed heavily and shifted so he could lift Merlin in his arms when the armory door opened again. Arthur glanced up warily and saw a tall, brown haired man standing in the doorway, mouth opened in what would have been a comical expression had the situation not been so serious.

"What the hell happened here?" For once, Gwaine's voice wasn't light and joking, and his eyes had no sign of light. "What happened to Merlin?"


	8. Conclusions

"What the  _hell_  happened here?" Gwaine asked again, eyes narrowed dangerously as he regarded Merlin, bloody and bruised, unconscious, in Prince Arthur's arms. He had walked into the armory, passing 'Stuff-It Stafford' halfway down the corridor, as he had deemed the prince, perhaps not as secretly as Merlin had his nickname, because frankly, Gwaine hated the man and didn't care who knew. He'd sent the dreadful prat a death-glare before going on his way, feeling slightly better now that he'd struck the fear of Gwaine into that weasel.

The sight that confronted him when he walked through the door to the armory was the  _last_ thing he expected to see – Arthur standing, shaking, holding an injured Merlin in his arms and fire in his blue eyes. Gwaine, overcome by a wave of almost crazed protectiveness at the sight of his hurt friend, let all logical reasoning fly out the door that slammed shut behind him. He didn't think about his seeing Prince Edmund on the way here or about the devastated expression on Prince Arthur's face. No, Gwaine saw only what was right there in his face, demanding his attention and anger, which was a beaten Merlin and a furious prince.

Gwaine's conclusion? Arthur was  _dead._

In a deadly voice, Gwaine took a step forward and held out his arms. "Give Merlin to  _me_ , Arthur."

Arthur looked surprised, then the anger returned. "No," he said stubbornly, glaring at the knight. "It's alright, I've got him now."

Gwaine growled. "I'm warning you – give Merlin to me and get your filthy hands off of him. What the  _hell_  did you to him this time, Arthur?"

Arthur's mouth fell open and he sputtered incoherently for a few minutes before responding in an even  _deadlier_  voice, "You think that  _I_ did this?"

Gwaine blinked and tried to calm himself down a bit. True, he'd had a bit to drink at the tavern earlier and true, said drinking often dulled his logic – though not his instincts – a bit. And, yes,  _true_ , his judgment was often… clouded when his truest and dearest friend was in danger. And now, looking at Arthur's hurt and shocked expression, he realized that  _maybe_ – just maybe – he'd come to the wrong conclusion. Still suspicious, he narrowed his brown eyes at the prince, still bearing Merlin's dead weight, and asked, "What happened?"

* * *

The plan was going well. True, he had had to move his plot forward a bit when Arthur stumbled across the evidence of the servant's punishment prematurely, but it wasn't anything Edmund couldn't handle. After all, he had a sharp mind and wit. In his time as Prince of Stafford, he'd learned the importance of making spur-of-the moment changes and adapting to the situation. It was something he had to do often when dealing with training servants, because sometimes they reacted in unexpected ways – like standing up to him instead of running for their worthless lives.

Edmund sneered as he doubled back and hurried the way he had come, toward the armory. He'd passed that ridiculous fool of a commoner who thought he could pass as a knight,  _Sir Gwaine_ , after leaving Arthur to mother hen over his precious servant – who had gotten nothing more than what he deserved, the lazy, incompetent, disrespectful  _serving boy_! He had to admit, he hadn't expected this development – the possibility of another in on what was supposed to be his, Merlin's, and Arthur's little secret.

You see, Prince Edmund of Stafford knew several things, things that would keep his plan to show Arthur the truth and teach Merlin his place, because Merlin was a wannabe, skulking the halls of Camelot and trying to be friends with those that should have nothing to do with him. Meanwhile, Arthur had become confused, misguided into thinking that the servant actually mattered. But all that would soon change.

_Fact: Merlin knew how important this peace treaty and Arthur's relationship with the visiting royal family was._

_Fact: Arthur knew that no matter how much he abhorred the way Merlin was being treated – again, nothing that he didn't deserve – he couldn't jeopardize Camelot and Stafford's relations, or the friendship between Herbert and Uther._

_Conclusion: Both Merlin and Arthur would keep their mouths shut and try to handle this on their own, until the time came that the final part of Edmund's plan came into play._

What Edmund hadn't counted on, however, was the addition of another player in this game of his. That's all this was, really – a game. Edmund knew that he would come out on top, crushing the competition – the servant – because  _he_  was sovereign. But in order to  _play_  the game, there didn't need to be any uninvited players running about, because they could ruin _everything._

Edmund knew that he could handle this, though. Even if he couldn't kill a knight of Camelot – however undeserving said knight might be – there  _were_  ways of ensuring his silence. Mouth curling up slightly as he pressed an ear to the armory door to eavesdrop in on what the drink-loving knight was planning to do next, Prince Edmund reflected that there were more than one way of keeping a man's mouth shut. If this was a game, then he would just have to make use of his pawn.

There was no way Gwaine would talk with Merlin on the line.

* * *

"I'm going to  _kill_  him."

Arthur, jaw tight, nodded his agreement. He still held tightly onto Merlin, not willing to let Gwaine help with the servant. Somehow the prince had convinced himself that this whole mess was his fault. Sure, he hadn't been the one to attack Merlin, but he hadn't spoken out to prevent this kind of thing from happening.  _Silence,_  he decided grimly,  _can make a man just as guilty as the offender._ "I  _really_ wish I could," Arthur agreed, a hatred as strong as Gwaine had heard lacing his voice.

"No, I'm serious," said Gwaine, and sure enough, there was no hint of a smile in those anger-shadowed eyes. "I'm going to kill him."

"Gwaine," said Arthur, shifting slightly to try and make Merlin more comfortable in his arms, "I hate the guy just as much as you do, but we can't—"

"You're right," Gwaine said sharply. "Death's too good of a punishment for the worm." He flashed an evil grin. "Your dad's got a torture chamber somewhere, doesn't he?"

Arthur couldn't help but chuckle, not really laughing at Gwaine's suggestion – because honestly, his mind had been buzzing around the same prospect ever since the ring of bruises around Merlin's neck had come into his line of sight. "Gwaine, you can't kill or torture Edmund, although if he weren't a prince, he'd already be dead now."

Gwaine scoffed. "I've told you, Arthur, nobility isn't a title, it's what's in a man's heart. What makes Stuff-It Stafford any different than the other scumbags in this kingdom? A crest, a title? No – just because he's a prince – and a  _terrible_  one at that – it doesn't mean he shouldn't be—"

"Gwaine!" Arthur interrupted, stopping the knight before his voice could carry too far. He started to try to explain to the man what all was at stake here when all of what Gwaine had said sunk in. He snorted. "Stuff-It Stafford? That's a good one."

Gwaine smirked. "I know. But Merlin's is better."

Arthur glanced down at the young man, getting heavier by the second in his arms. "Look, Gwaine," he said, worried that Merlin hadn't stirred yet and irritated at himself for standing here and talking to Gwaine when he should be getting his servant to the physician. "I know you're furious – as am I – but it's complicated."

Gwaine drew his sword. "I'll  _un_ -complicate it," he offered.

Arthur found himself tempted to just wave an arm dismissively and tell Gwaine to do whatever he wanted with Edmund for what he'd done, but he forced himself to be reasonable – he hated the times when, as a prince, logic and feelings vied for top priority – and said, "Please, Gwaine. Don't do anything yet – it could put you, Merlin, and even Camelot in more danger." He sighed heavily. "I'll take care of it… somehow."

Gwaine seemed to think this over before nodding curtly. "Fine," he said. "You've got two days to fix this and make sure Edmund never lays a finger on Merlin again." His voice was so low, hard, and un-Gwaine-like that it caught Arthur off guard for a few moments. "And then, if you haven't,  _I'll_  take care of it."

Arthur nodded, knowing that if he didn't find a way to deal with this impasse soon, there would be no stopping Gwaine from taking the law into his own hands. And if Edmund tried to hurt Merlin again, he thought, looking worriedly down at Merlin's bruised face, he'd probably be right there beside the knight all the way.

Grimly, Gwaine and Arthur, with Merlin, left the armory, not noticing the pleased prince scurrying out of sight behind a statue as they walked.

Edmund was pleased. Gwaine would be quiet – for now. And if he started to do something against Edmund, he'd stop and keep his mouth  _shut_  – or Merlin wouldn't live to regret his friend's decision.

* * *

"Thank you, Arthur."

The prince glanced at Gaius and then Merlin. He'd brought Merlin to Gaius, who'd kept his calm physician façade outwardly while his eyes – and raised eyebrows – told another story. Arthur could tell the man was distressed and incensed by what had happened, but he had tended to Merlin's wounds and bruises as best he could, declaring that the servant would make a full recovery, although he'd be out of work for a couple of days while he healed. Arthur said it was fine, not able to tear his gaze away from Merlin's face, which was a mess of bruises and even in sleep his face was scrunched in pain.

Arthur nodded distractedly, eyes troubled, knowing he didn't deserve thanks, but retribution for not taking better care of this servant. Anger forming every word, he recollected what had happened, knowing Gaius wanted more details on how – he already knew the  _who_  – his ward had come to be lying, concussed and bleeding, on the sick bed. "I walked by the armory… I heard the sound of a scuffle. I thought it was the knights. And then…" Arthur trailed off. He had known that Edmund was a sick person, but this? Merlin, according to Gaius, had a severe concussion, bad bruising of his throat – he was lucky his vocal chords hadn't been crushed – and he had bruised ribs and limbs, evidence of abuse. "How could he, Gaius? I mean… it's  _Merlin_."

How anyone could hurt that stupid, bumbling, innocent, fun-loving, friendly Merlin was beyond the prince. It made him so angry that he wished he could have not only told Gwaine, who was probably hacking a training dummy to pieces or brooding in his chambers, to have at Edmund, but also joined himself. He  _despised_  that visiting prince.

Gaius looked at his ward, face etched in anger, and Arthur thought it would be interesting to see what would happen to Edmund should he be left alone with Merlin's guardian for a few minutes. "He's a cruel man."

Arthur frowned and sat by the patient bed. "Get some rest, Gaius. I'll watch over him. He'll be safe with me. I promise."


	9. Crossing the Line

When Merlin woke up, he had one  _heck_  of a headache. In fact, he realized as he began to shift where he was laying, pretty much every part of him hurt. His throat, his chest, his stomach, arms…

He groaned, disoriented and in pain, lamenting about how every time he woke up now, it seemed like it was to an aching body. The last time he'd been knocked out, though, he had opened his eyes to a supply closet, so he supposed lying on his back in the patient bed was better than that.

It all came back to him. Going to the armory, seeing Prince Edmund. Merlin winced as he remembered the man relentlessly beating him, hitting and kicking and strangling, cursing all the while. Arthur had warned his servant not to get on Stuffy Stafford's bad side, and what had Merlin gone and done? He'd not only crossed the line of dislike and barreled into the realm of absolute hatred. Merlin didn't really think it was fair, though, seeing as he hadn't done anything to deserve the visiting prince to despise him. All he'd done was be Arthur's friend, try and help shape his destiny and mold him into the great king he was meant to be.

Of course, that was what had infuriated Edmund to no end. The man acted like he was religiously rigid when it came to social classes and status, and maybe he was, but it was more than obvious to Merlin that this wasn't just an attempt to set order to a so-called failing social class. This was personal. It was apparent from the way Edmund had loomed in the servant's face, spitting out profanities, declaring that  _no one_  was allowed to change Arthur. It would have been a nice sentiment, really, if Edmund had actually been looking out for Arthur and not working behind his back to undermine the prince's authority over his own servants. No, this was a control issue. Edmund saw that Merlin and Arthur were friends, not just master and servant, and that agitated him to no end.

Still, Merlin felt like he had made some pretty good arguments for Arthur's sake in the armory between punches, and hoped that Arthur would one day appreciate what Merlin was putting up with for him. And then –  _Oh no._  He vaguely remembered someone barreling into the room while Edmund was standing over him, triumphant at having beaten a scrawny servant to a pulp, and hearing a livid voice demanding Stuffy Stafford to get away from Merlin. Arthur. He  _had_  been there. He had  _seen_.

Lying there, hurting all over, Merlin felt his anxiety level spike tenfold. What was Arthur doing now? How long had it been since he'd come to Merlin's rescue? What had he done to Prince Edmund? Had he reacted badly? Did he tell someone? Was the treaty dead, Camelot in peril? Merlin hoped not.

Suddenly desperate to see Arthur and know what had happened, Merlin used aching arms to lever himself up into a semi-sitting position, his arms shaking with the effort of keeping his body up. He groaned pitifully as he rode out another bout of agony through his skull. It probably wasn't the smartest thing to do, he figured, getting up and wandering around to find Arthur after just waking up, but he was concerned about the aftermath of Edmund's attack.

He sat up and blinked in surprise to see that someone was sitting on a stool next to his bed.

"Good morning," said Gwaine, smiling roguishly, a bit of concern still lingering in his gaze even though his friend had regained consciousness.

Merlin smiled slightly. "What are you doing here?"

"Thanks, Merlin," Gwaine responded sarcastically. "Here I am, after waiting nearly  _four_ hours for your lazy butt to get out of bed, after missing  _dinner_  and refusing an offer to go to the  _tavern_  to drink off some nerves, and all you have to say to me is 'what are you doing here'? No, 'Oh, Gwaine, you're so selfless and handsome and I'm lucky to have you as a friend'? I'm hurt, mate. Truly."

Merlin blinked owlishly, his mind a bit sluggish and not quite up to interpreting all this Gwaine-babble so soon after waking. "Uh," he said, "Sorry?"

Gwaine grinned, then grew serious. "How're you feeling?"

Merlin thought about the question, shifted, winced, and answered truthfully, "Like I've been trampled by a herd of angry griffons."

Gwaine's eyes narrowed. "Or one dead son of a—"

Merlin moaned, laying his head back on the pillow. Arthur had told Gwaine; this couldn't be good. Gwaine was a good man, one of Merlin's greatest friends, but when it came to those he cared about, he could be a bit… impulsive. As in, taking a blunt butter knife from the kitchens, walking up behind Prince Edmund, tapping him on the shoulder, and then stabbing him in the eyeball with it when he turned around. Something like that. As much as Merlin hated the visiting royal, he also hated to think about how much trouble Gwaine – and probably by extension, he and Arthur – would be in if something like that happened.

"Arthur told you what happened."

It wasn't a question, but the long-haired knight answered anyway. "No. I happened to walk into the armory after that pompous pig left." He told Merlin about walking in on a shaken-up Arthur cradling a bloody Merlin in his arms and how he had jumped to the wrong conclusion. Then he relayed the following conversation between prince and knight to the bedridden warlock, informing him heatedly that if Edmund laid one more finger on Merlin, Gwaine wouldn't hold back. Merlin protested, trying to convince Gwaine that he wasn't worth Camelot going to war over, and Gwaine responded with an easy, "I can change that."

Sighing, Merlin knew that he wouldn't get Gwaine to change his mind so he just fell silent, staring at the ceiling. He really wanted to see Arthur, to find out  _his_  side of the story – which probably would involve less cursing and more facts than threats against Edmund's person – and to convince him that he should just leave well enough alone and let Merlin handle this himself. Not for the first time, the warlock wished that he could just use his magic to deal with Prince Edmund and be done with it. It was difficult to be so powerful and able to defend himself but not able to because it could cost him his life.

Forcing the grim thought out of his mind, Merlin asked, "Where's Arthur?"

Gwaine's voice was tight as he answered, "He's gone to have a chat with his royal deadness," he informed the servant, "to make sure that there aren't any mistakes about what'll happen if he tries to hurt you again."

Merlin was touched but also nervous. From what he'd seen of Edmund, the man wasn't one to give up just because more than one person knew he was a total jerk. He wondered if Arthur having a talk with the prince would only make matters worse. He supposed it wouldn't make much of a difference now, but still, he worried.

Gwaine could tell that Merlin was stressed and reached over to the table, handing Merlin a vial of something. "Here," he said. "For the pain."

Merlin grimaced, knowing what Gaius's pain remedies usually tasted like and decided he'd rather deal with his cuts and bruises without medicine, thanks. But, of course, Gwaine was as stubborn as ever and before he knew it, Merlin was gagging from the taste. He began to get drowsy almost immediately and griped, "You said it was for… for the pain. Not—" he yawned, "—a sleeping draft."

Gwaine shrugged good-naturedly. "Gaius said that sleep would be the best way for you to heal, mate, and figured drugging you would be a bit better than knocking out with the hilt of my sword."

"How…" Merlin yawned again, "…thoughtful of him."

Then he was out.

* * *

Arthur knocked on Edmund's door, willing himself not to knock the man flat as soon as he showed his cowardly face. He had decided to have a talk with the prince, to inform him that he wasn't to so much as give Merlin an angry glare from now on. He thought he had gained a considerable amount of control back over his temper since finding a beaten Merlin at Edmund's feet a few hours ago, but as soon as the door opened to reveal the smug prat's face, Arthur nearly decked him then and there. As it was, he simple allowed the muscle in his cheek to twitch and ground out, "Prince Edmund."

Edmund smirked. "Arthur. I was expecting to see you here."

Arthur cut right to the chase. "What happened today will  _not_  be tolerated again, do you understand me, Edmund?"

Edmund just looked at Arthur with a light, almost mocking smile on his pasty face. "Of course." Arthur bristled. There was no way the man was being sincere.

"I  _mean it_. What the hell did you think you were doing anyway? What gave you the idea that you can take other people's servants and beat them like that? Who gave you that authority?"

Eyes flashing, Edmund responded hotly, "No one  _gave_  me the authority to punish servants, Prince Arthur, just as no one gave it to you. It's our right to do with those under us as we please, something you used to agree with me on. What happened?"

Arthur's breathing quickened with his pulse as a result of the anger coursing through him. How dare Edmund suggest that Arthur had such a superior attitude toward the rest of the world, that he couldn't care less about what happened to his people? The image of the servant being struck with the flying knife played through his mind again and he winced.

"Oh, yes," Edmund said, as if reading his thoughts, "that servant, during knife training. You were quite content to throw knives at his head, weren't you?"

"No. You were the one trying to kill him, Edmund. Not me."

"I wasn't trying to  _kill_  him," Edmund protested a bit weakly. "Just to teach him his place, something that your servant  _desperately_  needed. And I'm sure  _still_  needs, even after I tried correcting him earlier."

Arthur took a step closer to Edmund, gaze burning right through him. "I swear," he said, "if you try to 'correct' my servant again, I will  _not_  be held responsible for my actions. Leave. Him. Alone."

Edmund's eyes narrowed. "Fine," he said haughtily. "If you're going to get so put out over a mere  _servant_ , it's your loss."

Arthur nodded curtly and turned on his heel, leaving a smirking Edmund in the doorway.

If only he had turned around to see the accomplished, satisfied grin on the other man's face, Arthur would have known instantly that this was  _far_  from over.

* * *

When Arthur returned to the physician's chambers, Gwaine was still sitting by the bed and Merlin was still out cold. Concerned, Arthur asked, "Hasn't he woken up yet?"

Gwaine nodded and Arthur relaxed. "Yep, but he's out of it again – Gaius told me to drug'im if he started acting like he was in pain."

Arthur grimaced.

"How did the conversation go?"

"It went," Arthur replied tersely.

"Will the great Prince Foot-In-Rear be bothering Merlin anymore?"

Arthur shook his head, although a shred of doubt remained. He hoped it didn't show in his eyes, because he really didn't want Gwaine to get all worked up again. "No. I talked to him; made sure he understands that he isn't to touch Merlin again."

Gwaine nodded. "Good. Maybe I won't have to murder him in his sleep after all."

The scary thing was, the way Gwaine said it, it was impossible to tell whether he was serious or not.

All he knew was that he hoped to never get on Gwaine's bad side – and it seemed that _Merlin_  was the line to cross if Gwaine was going to get angry.

Good to know.

* * *

"Servant!"

Two days later, after Merlin was rested up and on his way to a full recovery, Merlin ran into Edmund in the armory again. He decided that he  _really_  needed to stop making trips to the armory because that seemed to be where all his unfortunate encounters with the arrogant and violent prince seemed to spawn. Arthur, however, had training in fifteen minutes and no clean helmet, so he'd sent Merlin to fetch one. Although he'd rarely spoken to Merlin about what had happened in the armory before, rather than to tell him gruffly that he was glad he wasn't severely hurt, he seemed confident that Edmund wasn't going to be a problem anymore.

Merlin wasn't so sure but hadn't wanted to make Arthur nervous or to cause any more problems, so he'd wearily thanked the prince for setting this whole matter straight. Then he had fallen back to sleep, thank to another dose of Gaius's medicine. Merlin was so glad that he was no longer confined to bed and forced to sleep away his injuries for the most part, although the conversation when he had been awake had been interesting.

Gwaine and Lancelot in the same small space, both trying to cheer up their wounded friend, proved to be very entertaining. Gwaine's idea of 'cheering up' was a couple rounds of cider and stories about all the barmaid's he'd seduced in his many adventures. Lancelot, on the other hand, was much more reserved, and wanted Gwaine to spare them the details.

Now, Merlin turned, wincing, still bruised – the handprints around his neck were a brilliant shade of purplish-black. Prince Edmund was glaring at him ferociously.

"I'll admit, servant, that I don't know how you've changed Arthur, but you  _will_  pay for it!"

Merlin fought the urge to roll his eyes. Edmund's spiel was getting rather old. But Merlin, just now recovering from being hurt badly by the bully, didn't say anything. He did, however, try his best not to giggle when he saw who had silently appeared in the open door of the armory. Arthur had apparently not been as sure as Merlin had thought that Edmund was out of the picture and had followed Merlin, just in case.

The prince snarled and launched his fist. Merlin sidestepped easily, shook his head, and pointed behind Prince Edmund.

Confused, he turned… and received a fist in the face for his troubles. He fell, nose bloody. Merlin felt like cheering but wisely remained silent, not wanting to draw any extra attention to himself.

"I warned you," Arthur hissed dangerously. "Stay  _away_  from my servant."

They walked out, leaving the fallen prince on the armory floor.

"Thanks Arthur," Merlin said sincerely, trying to ignore the niggling feeling that all wasn't quite well yet. Instead, he focused on the positive – as it had been positively wonderful to see Edmund getting a taste of what he deserved for being such a bully.

"Idiot," Arthur retorted, grinning, confident that all was well once again.

For now, everything was back to normal.

* * *

After Merlin and Arthur had left the armory, Edmund stood, straightened up, and wiped at the blood pouring from his nose with the back of his hand. He allowed his bloody lips to twist into a smirk because that had gone  _exactly_  as planned.

Smoothing his tunic, he left the armory and began to hasten toward the council chambers, making sure to look properly distressed as he walked.

It was time he informed King Uther just how out of line his son had gone – for a servant. After Uther had been told, Edmund knew that the rest, with a bit of nudging in the right direction, would just take care of itself.


	10. The King's Decision

Arthur wasn't sure what to expect when his father sent a servant to his chambers with the message that the prince should report to the council chambers as soon as possible. Apparently an important matter needed to be discussed. Arthur hadn't seen Merlin since dinner but didn't think anything of it. He wasn't worried about Prince Edmund bothering his servant any longer, considering the satisfying  _crack_  as he had more than likely broken the other prince's nose. You see, Edmund was all about power – and now Arthur had shown that he was not going to put up with Edmund's controlling and violent ways, and the balance of power had shifted from one prince to the other – or so he thought.

When he entered the council chambers, it was to his father, looking angrier than he had seen him in a long time, sitting on his throne with his arms crossed over his chest. An equally enraged King Herbert sat beside him, in the chair that Arthur normally occupied. Arthur's mouth was beginning to go dry, his stomach doing nervous flips. Both kings looked so serious. This couldn't be good.

It wasn't.

Still, even though he had had a feeling that whatever his father and King Herbert wanted to talk to him about wouldn't be pleasant, he wasn't expecting the discussion to go in the direction that it did. "Father."

"Arthur." Uther's voice was almost as tight as his face, his eyes gazing at his son, his mouth in a stern line.

"Father, what is this about?"

The king thought for a moment before answering slowly. "I heard some very interesting news today, Arthur. Something that makes me question whether or not you are ready for the throne." Arthur swallowed, determined not to show his nervousness. What was going on?

"Sire?"

"Your servant, Arthur." Instantly, Arthur knew that this wasn't going to be a conversation he would like. At all.

"Merlin? What about him?" Arthur mentally winced as he heard the poorly masked defensiveness in his voice. Uther noticed and his eyes narrowed.

"What," the king said in a too-calm tone that sent shivers down Arthur's spine, "makes you think that you can  _assault_  another royal, a visiting guest, because of a  _servant_?" A great fist of anger socked Arthur in the gut. Edmund had  _told_? Arthur had been sure that he wouldn't, seeing as he and his father needed this treaty to pass just as much as Camelot did.

He tried to keep his voice as steady as possible, shaking off the foreboding feeling that this was going to end badly. "I'm sorry, Father, and King Herbert, for losing my temper with Prince Edmund. Perhaps I shouldn't have reacted violently, but he was overstepping his boundaries—"

"Edmund is King Herbert's son and heir to the throne of Stafford, and one of our closest friends, Arthur! We have told the family of Stafford time and time again that they are welcome to any of our luxuries while they are staying with us in Camelot – that means the food, wine, animals, and  _servants_."

"But Merlin is  _my_  personal servant," Arthur argued. "Surely Prince Edmund should have let _me_  deal with him as I see fit."

"From what my son tells me," King Herbert said, speaking up for the first time since Arthur had entered the room, "you haven't been dealing with him the way he needs to be. Edmund told me that your servant was rude, impertinent, and not efficient at his job. He also tells us that he thinks your judgment may be clouded when it comes to this 'Merlin'."

"I am inclined to agree," Uther added, "considering your attack on him in the throne room for correcting your servant."

" _Correcting_ him?" Arthur spat incredulously, indignant at the way Edmund had apparently spun the tale. "Is that what he told you? Father, he had  _beaten_ —"

"Enough. Your servant was disrespectful to a royal guest, and Prince Edmund dealt with him as he saw fit. It is  _you_  and that boy, and this companionship between the two of you, that is the problem at hand, Arthur. This boy should not be so important to you that you forget your place. Our guests are here to sign a vital treaty, you'll remember, and breaking Prince Edmund's nose isn't a way to secure that." Arthur felt a wave of satisfaction in hearing that he had done what he had set out to do. His father's cold, angry voice brought him out of his triumphant reverie and he winced at his father's words. "Normally, such behavior from a servant, and your reaction to said servant would mean a flogging – but King Herbert, Prince Edmund, and I have come to an agreement that you  _will_ abide by, or the consequences for  _Merlin_  will be  _quite_  severe."

Arthur gulped past the lump forming in his throat, furious at the injustice of it all. Not only was he concerned about Merlin's part in all of this and what his father's solution to the so-called problem was, but his father's dismissal of him for Edmund stung. Uther hadn't been the same since Morgana's betrayal. He'd spent much less time with his son and more time in his chambers. Arthur had thought that having an old friend come around would be good for the king, but now he wasn't so sure. It seemed that some of Emdund's lofty views of the world might have stemmed from his father, and now both royals were working against him, causing Arthur's father to second-guess his judgment. "What is your agreement?" he asked dully, positive that he was _not_  going to agree with it.

"Your servant will be spending the remainder of Prince Edmund's stay with him, and will be taught how to be a  _good_  servant."

"What are you saying?" Arthur knew, but he had to ask.

Herbert smiled like Edmund was God's gift to the world and said, "My son is going to train your servant."

* * *

As soon as he got out of the meeting, Arthur set out to find Merlin. He had to warn the boy of what was to come, what his father was forcing upon him.  _If he'll just suck it up, pretend to be Edmund's idea of a perfect servant,_  he thought almost frantically,  _maybe we'll get through this with as little pain as possible._

He didn't even believe his own thoughts. He'd seen the look in Edmund's eyes as he stood over the bleeding Merlin. Triumphant. Fierce. And full of more hate than anyone should ever direct toward someone as good-natured as Merlin. It made Arthur sick to think about it. And now Uther was going to essentially  _give_  Merlin to the visiting prince, like Merlin was just a piece of property. Distantly, Arthur remembered a time when he had behaved the same about the servant that was now his closest friend. Disgusted, he forced the memory out of his mind and continued his search for Merlin with renewed vigor.

* * *

Merlin was in his room, enjoying some rare evening downtime, when they came for him. Two guards barged into the physician's chambers, and Merlin could hear them through the door asking where Merlin was. A cold hand of fear encircled Merlin's heart as he listened. Distantly, he hard his guardian ask what this was about but the only answer they gave was, "The prince is in need of his services."

For a moment, Merlin was relieved. No, Uther hadn't found out about his magic, and no, the guards weren't here to drag him to the dungeons or his execution. Arthur wanted him. Suddenly, as the footsteps of the guards drew closer to his room, Merlin realized that the guards hadn't said  _which_  prince wanted him, and since when did Arthur send his father's men to fetch Merlin when he had the chance to yell at his "lazy servant" himself? Griping at Merlin for not doing his chores well or fast enough was one of Arthur's favorite pastimes.

That must mean…

As the guards took either of Merlin's arms in their hand and marched him out of the chambers with Gaius looking on nervously from his place at the table, Merlin realized that the prince he was being brought to wasn't Arthur – it was Edmund.

* * *

Arthur wasn't able to find Merlin in any of his usual spots – lounging about by the windows in the corridor outside of Arthur's room, in the armory (although, truth be told, he wouldn't blame Merlin in the slightest if he wanted to stay away from the armory from now on, given all that had happened to him there), or in the lower town. He decided he would go to Merlin's room, just in case, although he had a sinking feeling in his gut that Merlin wouldn't be there.  _Where_ is _that idiot?_

When he knocked on Gaius's door and was told to come in, he saw a slightly nervous physician crushing herbs at his table. The old man looked up when Arthur entered, confusion on his face. "Sire?"

"Gaius. Is Merlin here?"

The expression on Gaius's face was guarded, but Arthur could tell that he was growing more concerned with each passing second. "No, I thought he was with you."

Arthur gave Gaius a strange look. "I gave him the afternoon off, remember? To… rest." What he didn't mention was that he had been worried that Merlin was over-exerting himself after having just been injured. He had wanted to make sure the servant wasn't going to collapse because he was working too hard right after his painful encounters with Edmund. No, he couldn't say that; heaven forbid that he show how much he actually worried over that imbecile, even if he had a suspicion that Gaius already knew as much.

"Yes, of course I remember, sire. But some guards came in about an hour ago and took Merlin away… They said the prince had need of him."

Arthur's mouth was completely dry by now.  _Oh, no_. "They didn't mean me, Gaius. They meant Edmund."

Wrinkled face paling, Gaius gasped, "But what does Prince Edmund want with Merlin?" The unsaid question remained:  _Hasn't he done enough to him already?_

Grimly, Arthur replied, "My  _father_  has declared that Merlin is unruly and that he and I have become too 'close', whatever the hell that means, and has decided to allow Prince Edmund to 'train' him, giving Merlin to him until King Herbert and Edmund leave Camelot."

Gaius's eyes, even the one that normally drooped, went wide and up went the eyebrows. "Arthur, Edmund's cruelty towards those who serve him are well known, and he has  _never_ failed to break a servant."

"I know."

Tears threatening the back of his eyes, Arthur spun on his heel and marched out of Gaius's chambers, heading in the direction of Edmund's. He  _had_  to talk to Merlin.


	11. No Plan B

When Merlin and his "escort" reached Prince Edmund's door, the nervous tingling in his stomach exploded into something akin to panic. It wasn't that he was necessarily  _scared_  of Edmund, but rather of what the terrible excuse for a noble had the power to  _do_  to him. Merlin had learned to be wary of the prince, even if he knew in reality that he had the power to crush him. And even though the crushing of those he didn't like wasn't in Merlin's normally gentle nature, the young warlock was  _really_  beginning to question that sentiment when it came to Edmund.

Before the guards could lead him into the visiting prince's chambers, Merlin spoke up, masking the fear in his voice with annoyance. "There must be a mistake; I serve Prince _Arthur_."

The guards released his arms, rolling their eyes. "Not anymore," the first one said. "You're to be serving Prince  _Edmund_  from now on, boy—" he chuckled darkly, "—so if I were you, I'd best learn to control that mouth of yours. It could get you into some serious trouble."

 _Don't I know it,_  Merlin thought sarcastically, infuriated beyond belief that he was in this position. It never failed, when there was trouble anywhere within a five-hundred mile radius of Camelot, it  _never_  failed to come right his way, and frankly, Merlin was getting sick of it. The warlock's only real comfort was that once Arthur found out about this mix-up, he would put an abrupt end to it. There was no way the prince would stand for this. Normally Merlin didn't like to depend on others to help solve his problem, but if Arthur managed to set this ordeal straight before Merlin became a punching bag for Prince Edmund a second time, Merlin wouldn't be complaining.

With a short laugh from the other guard, the guards knocked, swung the doors to Edmund's room open, and shoved Merlin none-too-gently inside, slamming the doors shut behind him. His heart beating rapidly, Merlin eyed Edmund's abode from the inside disdainfully, not at all pleased with what he saw. Edmund's armor and training gear was thoroughly shined and placed meticulously on recently dusted shelves on the walls. His bed was made immaculately, not a wrinkle visible in his blanket. His floor had been recently, swept, dusted, and shined, and the rest of his belongings were tucked neatly away in his wardrobe.

The cleanliness of the room didn't bother Merlin. Instead, it was the vast array of weaponry that lined the wall that made his stomach queasy. Battle axes, swords, maces, and whips decorated the walls like rich, foreign tapestries covered Arthur's. The scary thing was, this room had been bare of all but its furniture before Edmund had moved himself in – all these weapons were part of  _his_  collection, and Merlin just hoped he wouldn't be introduced to any of them any time soon. It was like Edmund had his own armory in here!

There was the sound of a footstep and Edmund strode into view, his skin pock-marked and pale, so unattractive that Merlin wondered how the prat could stand seeing his reflection every day. His red hair was slicked back on his large head and his eyes gleamed excitedly. Merlin forced his magic inside of him as a chill of fear passed through him unbidden – he recognized that look in Prince Edmund's eyes. He'd certainly seen it enough in Morgause's eyes, Nimueh's, Morgana's, and countless bandits' – it was bloodlust. It was the same look that had emanated from Edmund's gaze several days ago, right before he had beat Merlin to a bloody pulp – except somehow, he looked even more fierce and dangerous.

"Did Arthur tell you the good news?" Edmund said, slowly coming toward Merlin like a cat stalking its prey. Merlin forced himself not to move, not even when Stuffy Stafford was just a few inches away from him.

Merlin couldn't help his sarcastic response, even though he knew he should just keep his mouth  _shut_. "Oh, you're leaving?"

He expected Edmund to lose his temper, lash out like he had done in the armory, but to Merlin's surprise, he just chuckled darkly, circling Merlin, whose anxiety level peaked as soon as the prince was out of his line of sight. He almost jumped when that slimy voice spoke right in his ear from behind. "You'll learn to control yourself around your betters, _boy_ ," Edmund hissed before stepping back into Merlin's view.

The servant glared stonily at you.  _If you keep this up,_  he thought with a kind of dark satisfaction, You'll  _have to learn how to forage for nuts and berries when I turn you into a squirrel_. His amusement at his fantasy must have shown on his face, for Edmund's eyes narrowed and suddenly Merlin's head was whipped to the side as the man's hand connected with his cheek.

"You think this is funny?"

Merlin bit back a saucy retort he'd used on Arthur before.  _Yeah, a bit, actually._

Edmund smirked at Merlin's silence. "See?" he said. "It's working already."

" _What_  is working?" Merlin growled.

"Your training, of course. You're going to learn to be the kind of servant a true royal deserves, or you'll  _die_  trying."

* * *

When Arthur came to Edmund's room, he knocked loudly on the door. He was surprised but relieved when Merlin opened it, looking okay but with a fresh bruise on one side of his face. Arthur held back his anger at Edmund for Merlin's sake and strode inside, closing the door behind him. "Merlin? Are you okay?"

Merlin's retort was as snappy and smarmy as usual, so Arthur knew he was alright. Of course, he  _knew_  that Merlin would be hard, nearly impossible, to break, because of his sheer stubbornness and loyalty. There was no way Edmund would have managed to break Merlin in a matter of hours, let alone days – which was exactly what Arthur had to remedy. "Oh, I'm  _great_ , thanks for asking. Just doing chores for my new 'master'. He's such a great guy, you know, I can see why your father wants him to teach me."

Arthur snorted. "Right."

Merlin absently poked at the forming bruise on his pale face. "Ow," he whined.

"Well, don't touch it, then," Arthur admonished. "Idiot."

"Prat," Merlin responded automatically but Arthur could tell that despite his easy, joking tone, his servant's heart just wasn't into the banter right now. Arthur didn't blame him though; he'd be devastated if he had to work for  _Edmund_  – well, if he had to work for anyone, period, but  _especially_  for that unspeakably horrible jerk. Merlin glanced around cautiously before moving a bit closer. "So," he said softly, "what's the plan?"

Arthur was confused. "Plan?"

"You know, your crazy but surprisingly effective plan to get me away from his royal rottenness and back to your royal prattness." There was a hope in Merlin's eyes that Arthur just knew he couldn't crush. But he had to.

Setting his mouth in a straight line, Arthur said, "There  _is_  no 'plan', Merlin. My father has declared that you will serve and be trained by Prince Edmund and that is that."

Merlin's face paled. "But—"

"No," Arthur interrupted. "Don't argue. You're to do what Prince Edmund says – every bit of it. Don't talk back, don't be 'cute', and if I hear you're treating him like you act around me, I will punish you myself." Merlin's eyes got wider and wider through Arthur's speech and they began to glisten with unshed tears. Arthur felt like he was ripping himself, not to mention Merlin, in two as he spouted out harsh words that he didn't really mean. "I don't want you to talk to me or seek me out  _until_ Edmund's job has been done and you have been _trained_  to be the kind of  _servant_  I deserve." His voice grew quiet. "Edmund was right. It's time there was a change around here."

Trying to block out Merlin's crushed expression, Arthur turned on his heel and left the room, passing Edmund, who was returning from wherever he had been skulking, on his way out. Grinning, the visiting prince remarked, "Nice speech, Arthur, but don't think this gets your 'friend' out of any of his 'training' – he's got a  _lot_  to learn and I can't wait to teach it to him. And when I'm done, you'll barely recognize him, and realize just what you've been missing in your servants for so long."

He strode into the room and slammed the door in Arthur's face. The last thing the prince saw before the door closed was Merlin standing forlornly in the middle of Edmund's chambers, shoulders hunched and eyes filled with tears. Arthur hated what he had said, hated himself for it, but it was all he could do. He couldn't let Merlin know all that was at stake; he couldn't put him at even more risk. He just had to say his bit and hope Merlin listened to him for once, because if he didn't, and fought Edmund like Arthur was terrified he would, Merlin would more than likely be dead by the end of the month.


	12. The Training Begins

"So," said Edmund, turning on his heel and facing Merlin, who was standing in the center of the room, shock written all over his lean face, "I suppose it's just you and me, now, eh, boy?"

The small part of Merlin that wasn't numb from Arthur's cruel words bristled at being called "boy" by a man who was scarcely older than himself. The way Edmund had spoken was more condescending than Arthur had ever managed.  _Arthur._  Merlin's eyes pricked at the thought of his master who had so blatantly dismissed him, and he forced the blonde prince out of his mind. He wasn't going to think about Arthur right now; it would only make things worse. With everything that had happened, Merlin felt that he was barely holding it together as it was. If he focused on Arthur and the way he had essentially thrown his servant to the wolves, he might lose his battle with the tears of injustice.

He  _hated_  the fact that he was powerful but could do nothing to get out of this situation without making it worse. He  _hated_  that Edmund was standing by the door, smirking because he held all the power in his greedy hands. And most of all, he hated that his best friend had told him to shove off until he became good enough. Right when Merlin thought that he and Arthur had reached a point where, despite their stations, they could respect one another and acknowledge, however reluctantly, their bond, Arthur had turned his back on Merlin.

No. He couldn't think about this now. He needed to stay sharp, fight back, damn Arthur's orders. The prat had obviously taken leave of his senses and even though his words had cut Merlin deeply, that didn't mean the servant was going to do as he said and lie down for Edmund to walk all over.

He closed his eyes, trying to calm down. He felt like he was weak and despised it, but couldn't control the raging emotions weighing him down. He was sick of the pretending, of allowing himself to be treated like this when he had the power to stop it. All for Arthur's sake, and Arthur didn't even care anymore.

 _Of course he cares,_  a small, hesitant voice in the back of his mind protested but he told it to shut up. Arthur's words had been evidence enough that he didn't.

Suddenly Merlin wasn't standing in the middle of the room anymore, but was lying on the floor, head pounding, chest throbbing where he had been shoved. He blinked open his eyes, grateful that they were relatively dry. Forcing Arthur out of his mind, Merlin glared up at Edmund, who was glowering over him. "What was that for?" he demanded. "I hadn't done anything."

Edmund's foot swung back and then connected with Merlin's side. The warlock gasped in pain where he lay on the cold stone floor, resisting the instinct to curl in on himself where the boot struck him. "It's  _Sire_  to you, servant," Edmund seethed. "And as for what you did wrong – you talked to Arthur without my permission."

Merlin's mouth fell open indignantly. "I am a  _servant_ ," he said as calmly as he could muster, pain still shooting through his side. "Not a slave. I don't have to have your permission to talk to my friends."  _Is Arthur really my friend? Really? After leaving you here to be beaten to a pulp?_  Shut up, he told himself.

Edmund chuckled darkly. "You have just made your life a hell of a lot worse, boy. But you've given me a challenge – and I swear to you, Merlin, I will break you. I've broken stronger men than you and soon you will be just another name on my list of success."

Merlin struggled to his feet, gasping slightly when the injury on his side pulled with the movement. "Seeing as I am a servant," he said slowly, choosing to ignore Edmund's threat for the time being, "I'll ask you this,  _Sire_. What's to stop me from quitting? From walking out of this room, this castle, here and now?"

Edmund's face turned feral. "I wouldn't try that if I were you, servant. For one, if you want that precious treaty to hold, you'll stick around." He smirked, "And if you don't cooperate, I'll be forced to kill you, of course."

Merlin couldn't believe the man's blatancy. "No, you couldn't do that," he argued, his stomach churning. "Arthur wouldn't stand for it, no one would. I'm from Camelot, not your servant, and no matter my station, it would still be murder."

"Not if you were to suffer from an… unfortunate training accident, don't you agree?" Edmund was getting uglier by the moment, trying to frighten Merlin into staying.

He wasn't sure if Edmund was bluffing but something told him the visiting prince probably wasn't. He was brutal and had a frighteningly demented view of the world and social hierarchy. He boasted that he was known over his kingdom for the training of servants; Merlin couldn't help but think that a few of his trainees hadn't survived. Merlin certainly wouldn't put it past Prince Edmund, at any rate.

Deciding to try a bluff of his own, for he would rather use his magic and turn Edmund into a pile of ashes before allowing the man to kill him, Merlin retorted, "It is better to die than to live under severe oppression."

Edmund smiled darkly. "But you see, Merlin, if you decide to try and leave Camelot and I'm forced to eliminate you, it only means another servant will take your place. I've noticed that Arthur also seems to be a bit friendly with that pretty serving girl, Guinevere, isn't it? Maybe she can take your place when you quit."

Swallowing back the anger at his friend being threatened, Merlin nodded curtly. "Fine," he said, "I won't quit." Eyes blazing fiercely, he added, "but believe me when I tell you – I'll be fighting you every step of the way."

Edmund grinned. "I'm sure you will." Then his fist shot out and he slammed Merlin in the temple, causing the servant to crumple at his feet, dazed. "Let's begin, shall we?"

* * *

Arthur was standing by his fireplace, trying to ignore the guilt rampaging through his mind. He had been cruel with his words, and he knew it – even if he hadn't known initially, the shattered look on Merlin's face was evidence enough. Still, he felt it the only way to ensure Merlin's cooperation. Despite being an idiot, Merlin was brave and one of the most obnoxiously stubborn men the prince knew. If Arthur asked, or even  _ordered_ , him to play along with Edmund's twisted game, Merlin was sure to refuse, opting instead to stand up for himself even when it was in his best interest to be, as the servant so  _eloquently_  put it, a doormat. Maybe this way he would realize what a dangerous position he was in and would just go along with Edmund's demands until he and his father left.

There was a soft knock at his door and he sighed heavily, not wanting to see anyone right now. Whoever was there knocked harder and Arthur groaned, rubbing his temples. Probably a stupid replacement servant his father had sent for him in Merlin's place. Still lost in thought, Arthur stalked to his door and flung it open, eyes widening when he saw who stood just beyond the threshold. It was a servant, yes, but one of Arthur's favorites by far, and just the face he needed to see.

"Guinevere."

She smiled but the gesture didn't seem to reach her eyes. Looking at her closely, Arthur realized that her eyes were rimmed with red and she looked like she had been crying.

"Arthur. I'm sorry; I know you're probably busy, but I just… I needed to talk to you. Can I come—"

"Yes!" Arthur had answered her question before she could get it out and she chuckled softly. He hadn't seen much of her lately, as he had been so busy with the preparations for their guests and worrying about Merlin. He also hadn't wanted to draw Edmund's attention to her, seeing as she was another servant he was friends – or in this case,  _more_  than friends with. It was bad enough that he was targeting Merlin, but if he laid one finger on Guinevere… So he had distanced himself from the woman he loved to protect her. It seemed to have worked so far; he wished that he would have tried the same with Merlin. Then maybe they wouldn't be in this mess.

As for Gwen herself, she had been working herself almost into a frenzy, taking on extra duties even though with her brother now a knight, she was technically eligible to become a lady of the court. She had refused to do so, though, until "the time was right". Arthur figured that was just a polite way of saying, "After Uther is dead." After all, Arthur's father was none too happy about the addition of several commoners as knights and it had been all the prince could do to keep his father from arresting them upon his realizing who they were. It wouldn't do to have his attention turned to Gwen, who would be in even greater suspicion because of her relationship with Arthur.

No, Gwen had been adamant that for the time being, she was content to be a mere servant. Arthur was both irked and proud because of this decision, but deep down he knew it was the wisest one. Arthur also thought that the chores might have been a way to distract herself from thoughts of Morgana's betrayal and all that had happened.

Arthur quickly let her in, glancing back and forth outside his door before he did so, ensuring that Prince Edmund was nowhere to be found. If the man suspected his feelings for Guinevere…

He refused to let his mind go there. Instead, he turned to Gwen. "What brings you here?" he asked, although he was pretty sure he already knew the answer.

He was right.

Tears brimming in her dark eyes, Gwen answered, "Merlin. I heard what's happened."

Arthur's eyes widened. "How…?"

"Gwaine," she supplied instantly. "I saw him on the training field, slicing that poor practice dummy to ribbons. I asked him what was wrong and when he turned to look at me, I never saw him so angry. It was terrifying. He told me that Prince Edmund was a heartless, well, I'm not going to repeat some of the things he said, honestly—" (here Arthur had to chuckle; he could only imagine), "—and that he had convinced your father to allow him to 'train' Merlin." She bit her lip. "And I asked Gwaine what he was going to do about it, and he said 'Nothing'."

Arthur's frown deepened. "That doesn't sound like Gwaine."

"Not at all," Gwen agreed. "But it makes me even more scared for Merlin. If Edmund has somehow managed to blackmail Gwaine into staying quiet and behaving, how is Merlin going to stand a chance against him?"

Arthur sighed wearily. "He's… stronger than he looks?"

Gwen choked on a sob. "Arthur, you've  _got_  to do something," she pleaded. "Edmund will _kill_  Merlin!"

Arthur turned his head and averted his eyes, not willing to face the disappointment in his love's eyes. "I'm sorry," he said hoarsely, regretting every word but knowing he, too, was compromised. "I just can't."

Gwen's eyes flooded with tears and she spun on her heel, leaving Arthur crestfallen and terrified. She didn't understand – how could she? – but he couldn't get involved. If only she knew everything Uther had threatened, all his grief-weakened mind had come up with in order to support his noble friends and their treaty, she would agree that he had no alternative but to stay quiet and as far away from Merlin as possible.

That might be the only way the servant would make it out alive.

* * *

Merlin, head fuzzy from that last blow, was dragged from Edmund's room by some guards and taken by a long route that Merlin's aching brain recognized as one  _avoiding_  Arthur's chambers, to the dungeons, the visiting prince following close behind. Merlin wasn't sure what was going on. He hadn't expected Edmund to take him to the dungeon, but rather to do what he had done in the armory – beat him mercilessly and demand his respect.

Now that he had Uther's blessing on this endeavor, however, it seemed that he was changing his methods – or, at any rate, adapting his usual "training" to Camelot and Merlin. Merlin was proved right when he was taken to a windowless, dark holding cell near the back of the dungeons and shoved inside by the guards, only Edmund following him in. There was a resounding  _click_  as the cell door locked behind the prince, leaving him locked in the cell with Merlin, who was feeling more anxious by the second. His magic was humming loudly in his ears, demanding he use it to defend himself, but he ignored it. He couldn't give into the temptation to take the easy way out because the results could be disastrous in the long run. As much as he worried about  _Arthur_  finding out the truth of his powers, he knew that it would be a thousand times worse if Stuffy Stafford were to discover his magic. So he didn't fight back with magic, but instead he would have to do so with what he had left – stubbornness, a healthy bit of self-pride, and more pluck than Edmund had in his little finger.

He waited for Edmund to speak, pointedly ignoring the way his palms were sweating and his heart was pounding. Merlin tried to tell himself that he wasn't scared, that he could beat Edmund in a fight any day, but that was with his magic. He wasn't sure what was in store for him, but without using his magic, he feared it would be wholly unpleasant.

Finally, after the silence had gone past  _awkward_  and into  _intensely awkward_ , Edmund broke the quiet. "You know," he said, almost conversationally, as he observed the young man standing rigidly before him in the center of the cell, hands clenched into fists at his sides and eyes flickering defiance in the dim torchlight, "I have a whole  _set_  of cells just for the training of servants back in Stafford. It's quite convenient really, and has everything I need right there when I need it." He didn't change his facial expression but the look in his eyes went from devious to maniacal. He sighed melodramatically. "Ah, well, I suppose I must make do with this."

Merlin rolled his eyes, determined to hide his fear from his 'new master'. "I suppose your training consists of some kind of torture, then? Like me having to stand here and look at your face for all hours of the day." he shuddered. "Maybe I should just give in now."

Edmund growled, feral, but managed to control himself. "You really have no idea who you're dealing with, do you, boy?"

Merlin opened his mouth to give a surly retort but wasn't given a chance as Edmund took the opportunity to withdraw a dirty rag from his pocket and jam it into Merlin's mouth. Merlin choked on the taste of the dusty cloth, probably the same one he had used to re-clean Edmund's things earlier, as the prince grabbed the boy's upper arm and dragged him to the back wall of the cell where a set of shackles on heavy chains were waiting for him. Merlin struggled, grunting beneath the gag, but was punched in the stomach. His protests silenced by the breath leaving him abruptly, Merlin gasped as his wrists were pulled behind him and clamped in the manacles. They were ordinary chains, not magical in the slightest, which meant Merlin could break out of them in a heartbeat, but Merlin didn't. Once again, he was forced to play helpless for the greater good – meaning  
Arthur's stupid, ungrateful ass.

After his prisoner was secured, Edmund took a couple steps back, smiling grimly in the blinking firelight at his handy work. "Yes, this will do quite nicely, I think," he said, almost to himself, before continuing, addressing Merlin this time. "I will tell you what I tell all young, naïve, and  _stupid_  servants I set out to train at the beginning. This is only the beginning. I pride myself on being a methodical man, patient, and smart enough to know how people tick. There are several key factors to a man's life, things that he doesn't want to – or  _can't_  live without. You assumed, probably from what happened between us earlier, that your training would be all about inflicting pain to make you mind. And while that's certainly proved to be an effective incentive, I've found that  _my_  method works better on stubborn cases like you."

Merlin glared fiercely at the man, tugging on the chains binding his wrists and trying to ignore the flutter of anxiety in his stomach. Edmund continued, "There are a few stages to my training, the first of which, what you are about to experience, is solely based on deprivation and not physical pain."

Merlin smirked behind the gag and imagined himself retorting,  _Oh, deprivation, eh? Why don't we go ahead and get started so you can deprive me of your presence?_  Merlin thought his sarcastic comment was quite clever and wished he could share it even though it would get him in trouble, but, alas, he could not.

"Stage One: Isolation. No one likes to be alone, left with only themselves and their own thoughts and fears. Company is something men crave, and so you will be deprived of such." He smirked. "A couple of days in this cell in pitch blackness, with no one, not even your own voice, to break the silence, will constitute the first part of your training. If you're smart, you'll go ahead and break, or at least bloody well start bending, because as bad as the first stage is, the others are far,  _far_  worse." He grinned wickedly, leering right in Merlin's face. "You're mine now, boy, and I intend to see to you the way I do any other servant – except you, Merlin, are going to be the most entertaining to break  _yet_."

Chortling madly at the power he held and how he was wielding it, he had the guards unlock the cell to let him out, slamming the solid metal door shut and locking it behind him once more. He had taken the only torch with him and there was no opening in the door, not even a tiny grate for a guard to peer through near the top, which meant the place was inescapable for most people. And even though Merlin couldn't risk slipping out of the cell, the lack of peephole did offer him some hope.

If he was going to be here for two days, he might as well make himself more comfortable. For the first time in days, Merlin found a use for his magic, although he hoped that it wouldn't backfire on him in the end, like it almost always did.


	13. The Three Stages

Despite having an advantage because of his magic and isolation, the next two days passed painfully slow for Merlin. True, he was able to get out of the chains and provide some light, as well as practice his magic without the danger of being caught – or so he thought – but still, he wasn't the kind of person that didn't like to be left alone. And, as it turned out, he wasn't as safe from being discovered as he had previously thought. He had been so preoccupied with his current situation that he had momentarily forgotten that there were some things the body needed to survive that even  _Stuffy Stafford_  couldn't ignore unless he wanted his prisoner to be too weak to train any longer. Seeing as this was only the first stage, he probably wasn't out to render Merlin half-dead from thirst –  _yet_.

It had been several hours since he had used magic to get free of the chains and create a light source in his cell that was kind of like a mini-sun, warm and bright, but nowhere near as vibrant as the  _real_  sun, when Merlin heard the scuffling of feet somewhere outside of his cell and murmured voices. He supposed Edmund had placed some guards outside his prison and they were getting restless. When he heard a key grating in the lock on the iron door, however, he knew he had to act fast, lest his magic be revealed and his predicament get even worse. With a frantic flash of his eyes, just as the door began to creak open, he froze time, just like he had done the first time he'd met Gaius when he saved his life. Groaning at having to do this, he jammed the gag back in his mouth and With another glint of gold, Merlin rushed to the wall and made the chains restrain him once more. The artificial light flickered out and Merlin was in darkness once more. Finally, time began again and the guard entered the room. Merlin could only see the dark shadow and slightly lighter silhouette of the guard from the sputtering torchlight outside the cell.

Merlin glared at the man, not sure what he was doing here but relieved that he wasn't the quietest at opening doors. That had been a close enough call as it was; if he hadn't gotten a warning that someone was coming in, he'd be in deeper trouble than he cared to imagine. The guard held something in each hand but because of the darkness Merlin couldn't tell what it was. He watched warily as the man walked toward him and tensed as he was unshackled from the wall and his wrists were handcuffed in front of him instead. At his feet, the guard threw what Merlin now recognized to be a half-empty water skin and an empty bucket. He then crossed his arms over his chest and retreated to the open doorway of the cell, his bulky body blocking most of the wan light and leaving his captive in almost total darkness. Not once did he speak.

Merlin just stood there before his dry, scratchy throat got the best of him. He pulled the gag out of his dry mouth and Slowly, glaring suspiciously at the guard the whole time, he bent over, picking up the water pouch with a clink of the chains around his wrists. Never taking his eyes off the man that was, in turn, watching him, Merlin brought the cloth flask to his lips and drank deeply, nearly choking at the foul taste of the water. It was warm and stale – he wasn't sure  _how_  exactly water could be stale, but it just had that kind of feel to it. Still, he welcomed the relief for his dry throat and finished the whole thing of in seconds. When he was done, he looked in the general direction of the guard, an eyebrow raised despite knowing that the other man wouldn't be able to see the gesture in the darkness.

The man still stood there, his angular head tilted in the direction of the bucket expectantly. It took Merlin a minute to realize what he was implying and the boy shook his head resolutely. No way was he going in that, especially when that beefy buffoon was standing in the cell, watching his every move. The guard didn't seem to get the hint, so Merlin defiantly kicked the offending bucket aside, his eyes daring the guard to do something about it. Instead, the guard shrugged as if to say, "Oh well," and instantly grabbed the boy again, gagging him and chaining him to the wall once more with his hands behind him. Without another word, he left, and Merlin was left all alone once again.

No one else came until well into the second full day, and even then no one brought him food – which was one thing that Merlin, even with all his magic, did  _not_  know how to conjure.

All in all, even with the ability to get free and make light in his small, windowless prison, the two days of stage two continued to be some of the loneliest and worst of Merlin's time in Camelot. He had a feeling, though, that if it hadn't been for his magic, he'd be going haywire by now, so when he wasn't practicing magic he amused himself by picturing Edmund's face when his "Stage One" barely made a dent in Merlin's outgoing and often cheeky personality. It was going to take a lot more than  _this_  to bring Merlin down, and Edmund was about to find out.

Unfortunately for Merlin, he had not yet completely grasped just how  _far_ Edmund would go to achieve his goal.

* * *

Arthur didn't see Merlin the rest of the day after Edmund had been granted authority over him. Of course, he assumed that it had more to do with the fact that he was purposefully avoiding any place that a clumsy, too-optimistic, mouthy, and probably more than a little hurt servant would be than anything else. For one, he had seen the look of total betrayal on Merlin's thin face when he had ordered him to submit to Edmund's training. He knew that he had hurt Merlin and as much as it pained him to admit it, even to himself, he felt  _really_ bad about it. He and Merlin had had their rows before –  _plenty_  of them, if truth be told – but Arthur had never so blatantly rejected his friend – er, servant. The guilt was enough to drive him mad as it was; seeing the result of his actions would only make him feel that much worse.

Another reason behind his reluctance to see Merlin was that he didn't want to get Merlin into any more trouble than he already was. He had known Prince Edmund for years now and had come to realize – but  _certainly not_  appreciate – how possessive he was over his belongings. And while Merlin didn't actually  _belong_  to him (Arthur bristled at the thought), Edmund would certainly be in that mindset. And if Merlin was  _his_  servant and was caught talking to his  _old_  master, Edmund would get mad. As it was, Arthur hoped that Merlin hadn't gotten punished very severely for the little chat earlier. Part of him snapped at his conscience and told him that he shouldn't be so much as allowing there to be a mere  _chance_ of punishment on Merlin's part, but the situation was completely out of his hands. His father had made that much certain.

The next day, however, when Gwen, eyes rimmed with red, visited his room again, this time bearing the news that she hadn't seen a sign of Merlin all day during her daily rounds, even in the corridor where his "new" master's room was set up, Arthur began to have a tickling feeling in his stomach, and not the kind that  _usually_  showed up when Gwen was nearby. This one was foreboding, nervous. Even though he had no real evidence to support his theory, he had a feeling that something was wrong with Merlin. He tried to shake it off, though, because he had promised himself that he wouldn't get involved any more than he already was – for Merlin's sake.

He had, however, upon hearing that Gwen had intentionally gone to Edmund's corridor to search for her friend, reprimanded her gently. "Gwen," he'd said, taking hold of her shoulders gently and trying to resist the urge to pull her closer to him and kiss her worried brow, "I don't want you going anywhere near that corridor, the room, or Edmund again."

"But Merlin—" Arthur's beautiful girl protested, dark eyes frowning, whether at Arthur or Edmund or just the situation in general, Arthur wasn't sure.

"—will be fine." Arthur didn't believe his own words, not  _really_ , but he wasn't going to let Gwen put herself in danger by getting too close to Edmund. If the other prince happened to take a notice to her and how close she and Arthur were, she might be the next one to fall into his hands. Arthur couldn't stand losing both Merlin _and_  Gwen to that creep, even if it was just a temporary loss like he prayed it would be.

Gwen shook her head, her raven curls bobbing as she did so. "No, you can't know that, Arthur. I'm telling you, I haven't seen him in over twenty-four hours. And I've seen Prince Edmund a few times – from a far distance—" she hastily assured the prince, "—and Merlin was never near him. I don't know where he is, or if he's still…" She put a hand over her mouth and bit back a sob.

If it had been any prince other than Edmund, Arthur would have thought that Gwen's fear of Merlin already meeting his death at Edmund's hand was  _very_  far-fetched. As it was, he certainly didn't think that Edmund had killed Merlin, because if Arthur really believed it, and was right, then Edmund would be dead, too. But still, her grim, unfinished sentence hung in the air and Arthur couldn't help but wonder if Edmund had hurt Merlin already. And where  _was_  the bloody idiot, already?

 _Maybe he got smart and decided to quit,_  Arthur thought but found he didn't believe Edmund would let him go that easily, even if Merlin was a servant and technically had the power to quit.

After Gwen had left him, tears threatening to run over, he flopped down in his chair and put his head in his hands, feeling sick to his stomach. He wanted to know where Merlin was, what was happening to him, and what Edmund had planned in this "training". He needed to know if Merlin had done what Arthur had said and had "broken" for Edmund's benefit. He wanted to make sure the idiot was safe, but there was no way to do so without putting Merlin in even more jeopardy. Sighing heavily, he let his old servant, the one before Merlin, in at the knock and didn't speak once while the bootlicker prepared him for training with the knights.

One thing was for certain – Arthur was  _not_ in the mood to do anything with a sword save for scare the living hell out of one puny, pathetic, manipulative whelp by the name of Prince Edmund of Stafford.

* * *

By the time Merlin's two days in the dungeon had passed, Merlin had only been visited – each time by a silent, bucket and water-bearing guard that brought no light or food with him – twice. He was hungry, tired, and  _really_  had to go to the bathroom, but he had stubbornly refused doing his business while that stupid guard was in the room, pitch black or not, but otherwise, he was in rather high spirits.

Time to rub it in Eddie's ugly little face.

Merlin wasn't, by nature, a particularly vengeful person, but in this occasion he couldn't _wait_ to see Edmund's pock-marked face when he realized that Merlin hadn't been affected mentally or emotionally by the "isolation stage", only physically and then, just a bit. A good meal or two and the chance to relieve himself and he'd be as good as new.

At the thought of food, his stomach rumbled even as he was led into the light (which didn't bother his eyes like it should have because he had actually  _had_  light in the cell) out of the dungeon and escorted into Edmund's room before he was thrown to the floor in front of the stuffy prince himself. Merlin pushed himself up, trying not to wince in pain at the twinge his nearly-gone bruises have him. They had healed remarkably fast thanks to Gaius, who, Merlin realized, had to be worried out of his mind by now. Merlin felt guilty about making him worry but he really hadn't had a choice in the matter so he decided to let it go for now and sort all the guilt he felt about worrying his guardian later.

Edmund's eyes narrowed when they fell on Merlin who stood before him, perhaps a bit thinner than he had been, with cheeks sunken in a little deeper, but still with a chipper, almost taunting smile on his face. When he spoke, his voice was rough from disuse but he sounded quite pleased with himself nonetheless. The sound of his voice made Edmund's very skin crawl with hatred for the servant.

"Aw, time's up so soon?" Merlin taunted, well aware that he may get more isolation time for this, perhaps something worse, but unable to resist a jibe at the prince. "And I was getting so  _used_  to not having to look at your face. Pity."

Edmund's mask of hatred grew more intense for a moment before he spat, "So isolation didn't work on you… no matter. You're probably used to not having any friends to talk to, therefore unable to feel the pain of having them taken away from you."

Merlin ignored the low blow and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Ah, well," Edmund continued darkly, "that's only the first stage. Today, we move on to stage two – and trust me, this one is going to be simply  _delicious_." He picked up an apple from a fruit bowl and bit into it, smiling when Merlin's stomach declared its hunger once more. "You will break, boy," he vowed before tossing the fruit aside and smirking. "But if you make it past this next stage, I'll be very impressed indeed."


	14. Arthur's Foot Is in His Mouth Again

The next day found Arthur on the training field with his knights, clobbering every man who dared spar with him. He showed no mercy and radiated a fierce anger that everyone who he came in contact with feared. He was  _not_  in the mood to talk to anyone, answer any questions, or acknowledge that he might be going a bit  _too_  hard on some of the new recruits. Three young knights had already been sent to Gaius – two with broken fingers, one with a two-inch gash on his bicep.

It wasn't until Sir Leon found him during a water break that he came to realize just how difficult he was being. "Sire," Leon said, looking at the young prince sympathetically, "perhaps it would be wise to postpone training until you are more in control of your emotions. You are—"

Arthur growled, "I'm perfectly in control, Leon! The men  _need_  a challenge. Otherwise, they won't become the kind of knights Camelot needs, the kind of knights that can protect those who rely on them." He looked away, struggling to maintain his callous façade. Leon wasn't fooled.

"Arthur," he said in the kind, wise, almost fatherly tone the prince had grown to rely on from his knight who was seven years his senior. Leon had been there for him when his father hadn't; helped him through situations an old physician like Gaius knew nothing about, and had become something of a bigger brother to Arthur during his childhood and early adolescence. Even now, at the age of twenty-two, Arthur found that he craved Leon's advice still; the man was a true knight and was one Arthur could confide in regardless of the circumstances. "I'm just trying to help."

Arthur sighed heavily, running a hand down his face. "I know. It's just…"

"Merlin?" Leon didn't miss the way Arthur winced at the servant's name, almost as if hearing it hurt. Come to think of it, it probably did.

Arthur nodded, glancing at the other knights on the field to make sure no one was listening in. The  _last_  thing he needed was for Lancelot or Gwaine to overhear him telling Leon about what he had said to Merlin. They'd throttle him, prince or not, despite his intentions. "I assume you know that he's being forced to work for Stuff—er, Prince Edmund?"

Leon smirked at Arthur's near slip-of-tongue but didn't comment. It was obvious by the look on his face that he would have thoroughly enjoyed whatever insult Arthur was going to send the visiting prince's way. Leon had seen what the brute had done to Merlin  _just_  for speaking out of turn or whatever the hell the other prince thought he'd done. Merlin had been bedridden for several days; he had looked not unlike a prisoner of war might after a questioning session with the king.

Leon, who had always liked Merlin despite his unorthodox behavior around royals – or maybe  _because_  of it – had been furious to see what had been done to the boy that followed Arthur around like a puppy, and the most  _loyal_  and  _talkative_  puppy in Camelot, to boot. Not only that, but Leon knew how Arthur cared for the boy, even though he wouldn't admit it, and for the knights of Camelot nowadays, an insult to Merlin might as well be one to Arthur because they knew Arthur would take it that way, even if he pretended that he didn't care.

"Yes, Sire," he said, confirming that he knew  _exactly_  what Merlin had gone through and was now continuing to suffer. "I'm sorry, Arthur."

Quietly, quickly, Arthur admitted, almost as if ashamed, "I told him to break, Leon. Told him to do whatever Edmund orders, to become a bootlicker, and not to show his face again until he was the kind of servant I deserved." To his surprise, Leon did not scoff in disapproval or lower his eyes in shame. Instead he put a firm hand on Arthur's shoulder and reassured, "You were only doing what you thought was right to protect him, Sire. I'm sure Merlin knows it."

Arthur shrugged the hand off, the guilt that he stubbornly refused to acknowledge building up to a crescendo inside of him. "That's just it, Leon, I don't think he does. I think he may have lashed out in anger or fear at Edmund and that something terrible has happened to him because of me. I heard from Guinevere that he hasn't been seen for days. If that idiot's gone and gotten himself killed…"

"I'm sure he's okay—"

"I don't want to talk about this anymore, Leon. I don't even know why the hell I told you this much, anyway. It's not my problem that Merlin's been assigned to Edmund. I don't care."

"Uh, Sire…?"

"What?" Arthur regretted his snappish response as soon as it left him and he glanced at his friend apologetically. Leon didn't respond other than incline his head, motioning for Arthur to look behind him. What the prince saw nearly made his heart stop. There, not five yards away, standing on the training field next to Stuff-It Stafford himself, was Merlin – and the look of hurt and betrayal in his cerulean eyes was so great that Arthur didn't see anything else, not the sunken, sallow look to Merlin's face nor the fact that he had several new bruises decorating what was visible of his neck and his face. He opened his mouth to take it back, to explain that he had only been trying to convince himself, to take his mind off the gut-wrenching guilt he was hard-pressed to ignore… and he caught a glimpse of Prince Edmund standing right behind Merlin, eyes narrowed maliciously, the warning in them unmistakable.

Arthur clamped his mouth shut and, after throwing his weapons down at the feet of his poor, bewildered replacement servant, he stormed off of the training field, never looking back. Leon took the time to send Edmund a measured, disapproving look while still maintaining his diplomacy and shoot Merlin a sympathetic smile before going after the prince. Moments later, a satisfied Edmund and a depressed Merlin watched as Gwaine, Lancelot, Elyan, and Percival all walked past them like they weren't there. No one so much as looked at Merlin. No one sent him an encouraging smile or even a pitying grimace.

And while Merlin felt like he was being ripped apart from the inside out, Edmund was ecstatic.

Perfect.

* * *

Later that night, Merlin lay on cold stone floor of the antechamber, which Edmund had refused to furnish for the servant and yet had demanded the servant stay in, stomach growling loudly. He winced, trying to ignore the aching emptiness in his stomach. He'd had nothing to eat for over twenty-four hours and no way to get anything at all. He had found out that "Stage Two" consisted of another kind of deprivation. Another thing humans cannot cope without, that people need to stay sane, to stay alive, is food, so said Stuffy Stafford.

And so Merlin had, for the past twenty-four hours and counting, been deprived of eating anything. Edmund hadn't let the boy out of his sight, going so far as to insist he sleep in the empty antechamber just to ensure he didn't go back to Gaius and eat something. He was going to learn his lesson, Edmund vowed, one way or another. "And if I find out you've snuck off to get some food, you won't  _drink_  until you're on your deathbed from dehydration,  _servant_."

Stage Two was worse than Merlin could have foreseen. Being alone, locked in a dungeon, he could deal with. An empty stomach and Edmund's constant, overbearing presence? Not so much. Now he wouldn't have even been able to summon food, even if he  _knew_  how to do that, because Edmund was watching him closely. His magic would be revealed and even more disaster would ensue, followed up by what Merlin was positive would be a trip to the pyre or the noose. So, once again, for his destiny, for Arthur, and for his magic, Merlin was made to suffer.

As if that wasn't bad enough, on his first day back out in civilization, he had seen Arthur on the training field, and the words he'd overheard the prince saying to Leon broke his heart. He had thought that Arthur was his  _friend_ , that he  _cared_  whether or not his servant lived or died. Even after his harsh words to the young man the first day he'd been Edmund's servant, Merlin had hoped that Arthur had another motive for his hurtful words, that he really  _did_ care. But this – what he said to Leon, how Merlin wasn't his problem, that he didn't care – had cut Merlin deeply. When he had realized that Merlin had overheard him, Arthur hadn't even attempted to explain or apologize. No, he had just walked away after staring openly at the servant with an unreadable look in his eyes as if disgusted at what he saw.

And as for the knights, his so-called friends? Lancelot, Percival, Elyan, even  _Gwaine_? They had abandoned him as well, walking past him without a hint of interest or friendship. Merlin thought that  _Gwaine_  of all people would be fighting against Edmund at every turn, determined at all costs to free his friend from his current torment, but… nothing. Gwaine hadn't so much as given him a second glance. Merlin had never felt so alone, not even trapped in the darkness of a dungeon for two days. This time, the people he cared for were deliberately deserting him, and it was tearing him up inside.

Vaguely, right as he drifted off into an uneasy sleep on the hard, cold floor, he wondered if standing up to Edmund was the best thing after all. If he didn't have friends to support him, what was the point?

It was with a heavy heart, laden mind, and empty stomach that Merlin fell asleep with doubts and fears playing over and over in his head.


	15. Enough Is Enough

During the time that Merlin was being forced to work for Prince Edmund, Gaius was nearly beside himself with worry. He had been very concerned when he first learned that the boy he had come to know as a son was going to be 'trained' by the cruelest noble Gaius had had the misfortune to meet, but he hadn't said anything to the king about it. No, the old man was wise, even if his advice was rarely taken heed of, and he knew that any attempt to persuade the king to release Merlin from Edmund would be taken badly. It was a given that protesting Merlin's predicament would make things worse for the boy.

When a day, then two, three, four, passed with Merlin not returning home, not for food or rest, Gaius was so nervous that he could barely do his rounds because his mind was always distracted with thoughts of Merlin. He knew that the boy, despite his reputation as Camelot's resident idiot, was actually quite smart. He was resourceful and he had magic, his greatest defense. But would that be enough to keep him safe? Gaius didn't think so; the boy's previous encounters with Edmund certainly didn't suggest as much. And it was all because Merlin was  _refusing_  to do anything to help himself, for fear of what it would cost Arthur and Camelot if the treaty were to be disregarded by the two kingdoms – and if Uther found out about his magic in the process, the situation would get that much worse.

All in all, Merlin – as well as the rest of his friends and allies in Camelot – were stuck between a rock and a hard place, yet no one seemed to be brave enough to venture out from their metaphorical prison for fear of what might happen to Merlin, to Arthur, to Camelot. What it all boiled down to was that Prince Edmund of Stafford was a sick, vile excuse for a human being – but a smart one. Very, very smart.

Gaius hadn't spoken to Arthur in days – there had been no council meetings called and the only other times he usually saw the prince was either when he was injured or coming to the physician's chambers to yell at Merlin – so only knew what was happening from his perspective. It had come to the point where the old physician was  _done_  with not knowing where his ward was or what was happening to him. He couldn't go to the king, he'd already decided that, but maybe Arthur or one of the knights could be of some help. In fact, the only reason Gaius could think of that they  _wouldn't_  be risking life and limb to get Merlin out of Edmund's jurisdiction was that the sly royal had managed to gain the upper hand on them, too.

Arthur had come to see him the day before, eyes deeply troubled and face pale. "Gaius," he'd said, sinking down onto a stool that was by the vacant patient bed, "I didn't want to have to come to you with this, but I don't know what to do."

Gaius had simply raised his eyebrows but Arthur was used to the wordless gesture and interpreted it correctly as a signal to "go on".

"Gaius, I saw Merlin earlier and—"

Gaius had cut in, disregarding how inappropriate it was to interrupt the prince. "How was he, sire? Is he alright? Did he say anything?"

Arthur had looked at his feet, guilty. "Gaius, he… he didn't look well. And, well, he  _may_ have accidentally misconstrued something that I said and taken it to heart."

"Did you tell him what you meant?" Gaius had wanted to know, now worrying for his ward's emotional health as well.

Arthur looked ashamed. "No. I didn't. I  _couldn't_ , Gaius," he elaborated, voice close to cracking as he finally looked up and met Gaius's eyes. "I can't speak to him; no one can offer him any sympathy, any help whatsoever."

Gaius paled. "What do you mean, sire?"

Arthur had sighed heavily. "Edmund is pulling all the strings, Gaius. He's gotten cleverer since the last time he was in Camelot, and he's using it to his advantage. He made sure to seek out each of the knights, anyone close to Merlin that might try and stop this by attacking Edmund or getting Merlin out of Camelot, and made it painfully clear…" Arthur trailed off and Gaius nodded at him to continue although in actuality he wasn't sure if he was ready to hear anything else.

"Gaius," Arthur finally said, "if we try to help Merlin in any way, even so much as  _suggest_ that we are going to try and get him out of the situation, Edmund has vowed on his title and crown that he will  _kill_  Merlin – and according to Gwaine and Lancelot, he got  _quite_  graphic about how he would do it, too. Long and drawn out, painful—" He broke off, seeing the horrified look on Gaius's face. "I'm sorry. It's just – we're helpless; there's nothing we can do without making it worse. We'll all just have to ride this out until Edmund leaves."

Gaius didn't answer and the two sat in silence, both aghast at the impossible situation they – and Merlin – were in.

As it turned out, Edmund was even smarter than Gaius had given him credit for – and his specialty, it seemed, was blackmail.

* * *

Five days. It had been five days since Merlin had been transferred to Edmund, but it seemed like it had been five  _years_.

The first two days, of course, hadn't been all that bad. They hadn't been wonderful, being kept mildly hungry and locked in a dungeon, but they hadn't been  _terrible_. The next three days had grown more hellish every hour. Merlin hadn't eaten in three days, but considering he'd only had two tiny meals a day while in the dungeon, it felt more like five days without food. He got water, but only just enough. And he was still expected to do every single chore, no matter how taxing and ridiculous, that Edmund threw his way.

It was  _ridiculous_.

Now it was nearing the end of day five and still Arthur hadn't approached him, not even to give a half-hearted and poorly masked half-apology for the biting words he'd said on the training field. He'd seen only snatches of his friends – Gwaine seemed to deliberately turn his head when Merlin passed by, Lancelot would suddenly find his shoes  _incredibly_ interesting in Merlin's general vicinity, and even Leon had begun to ignore Merlin entirely. Gwen and Gaius were never around when Merlin was, it seemed, and so he hadn't been able to tell if they were suddenly against him, too, or not. The toll of everything was weighing heavily on his heart and he was  _this_  close to either just giving in to what Edmund and apparently Arthur wanted or letting his magic take control of the situation, damn the consequences. After being made to scrub out Edmund's and the king's chamber pots on an empty stomach – a task not even remotely pleasant when full – option number two was beginning to sound better and better.

Then there was what Edmund liked to call Stage Three. Edmund had begun using it this morning and to Merlin's dismay, it consisted of exactly what Merlin had been expecting from Edmund in the first place – lots of physical pain and even more heavy labor. And on an empty stomach? Merlin constantly felt light-headed from the pain of a new bruise on his side or a cut on his head, coupled with the lack of sustenance and deep depression he was sinking rapidly into. He had nearly fallen down the stairs with a handful of Edmund's swords to clean and the prince, who had been walking right behind him to make sure there were no little  _detours_  to Gaius's chambers or the kitchens, had dragged the servant back to the room, beat him around with bare fists, then tied him up and shoved him into the closet as punishment for not paying attention to where he was going.

In short, Merlin's life had become a living  _hell_  and he was desperate to find a way out. He didn't think he could take another minute, another  _second_  of this constant pain-hunger-work routine. And so it was that when Edmund got angry because Merlin didn't clean under his bed properly (there was apparently a speck of fuzz that had gone unnoticed) that Merlin decided that  _enough was enough_. His magic sprang to his aid, his eyes blazing gold as he whispered, " _Swief neu!_ ", although he kept his back to Edmund so the prince couldn't see them. He prayed that it had worked.

There was a satisfying  _thump_  from behind him as Edmund lost consciousness and fell face-down onto the hard stone floor, out cold. Merlin turned to see that he was sprawled in the middle of the floor, mouth gaping open and pushed back an immense wave of anger as he looked at his tormenter. A small part of him begged for revenge and he had to consciously force himself not to oblige it. No, he wasn't going to hurt Edmund like he'd done Merlin. Merlin was better than him. Right now, he just needed to get away from the royal and to someone who might could help him.

At first he decided on Gaius but changed his mind in a hurry. He knew that his appearance would worry the physician more than he already was and he couldn't take that chance. Besides, Gaius wouldn't know how to help Merlin out of this mess; there was only one that the warlock knew that  _might_. This had gone far enough and Merlin was going to find out if there was  _any_  other way out of this that didn't involve him getting beaten to death or being 'broken'. And if Kilgharrah couldn't tell him how, then he didn't know who could.

He turned to limp out of the prince's chambers but turned back reluctantly, knowing that someone would get suspicious if they found Edmund lying in the floor. The silent spell that Merlin had instinctively used would guarantee that the man would stay asleep unless woken by someone deliberately and hopefully no one would try to wake him up if they just thought he was asleep in his bed. So Merlin flashed his eyes again and Edmund floated to his bed and was dropped onto it with a heavy  _thump_.

Then Merlin turned on his heel and staggered out of the room. He  _had_  to call Kilgharrah, find out what he could do about this.

His headache, nausea, hunger, and wounds all worked against him, though, and Merlin had only managed to stagger halfway across the deserted courtyard – it was late evening and most people were in their homes for the night – before everything became too much. Black spots danced in front of his eyes and he swayed, sliding to the ground in a dead faint.

His last conscious thought was that he hoped Edmund wouldn't be the one to find him.


	16. Change of Motives

When Merlin woke up, he only did so halfway. He felt tired – more exhausted than he had ever been; his body simply seemed to have been drained entirely of energy. His head pounded and was fuzzy; his body hurt; the world seemed almost surreal from his vantage point. His grip on reality was weak and as hard as he tried to hold on he found himself slipping back into consciousness again, before he had even gotten the chance to open his eyes and see where he was and what was happening to him.

_No!_  he protested his painfully weak body. He struggled with every ounce of strength he had left to crack open his eyelids but to no avail. He was fading fast, his mind plunging back into the swirling abyss of unconsciousness.

He supposed he'd just have to find out what was going on later.

* * *

The morning after Merlin's little outing, Edmund was roused by a skittish, terrified servant that wouldn't take his eyes off of the ground and refused to speak unless spoken to first – and when they did, their voice trembled in fear. Perfect.  _This_  was the kind of reaction that Edmund was used to provoking in those who were simply born to serve him. Still, that didn't explain why he had apparently been sleeping all night and well into the morning, how he had fallen asleep, and where that worthless  _Merlin_  was at now. After getting dressed, fury positively radiating off of him, Edmund stalked out of his guest room and toward Arthur's chambers, thinking that if anyone knew where that useless boy was, it would be Arthur. In fact, as much as Edmund hated to admit it, he wouldn't be at all surprised if _Arthur_  was hiding him away somewhere.

Edmund let a wave of anger wash over him at the thought of his fellow prince. Arthur, so far, had been completely unresponsive to any of the attempts Edmund had made to help him see the light. Arthur had somehow come to the assumption that  _Merlin_  was actually good enough to be not only his servant, but his amiable  _companion_ , a  _friend._  And the way he let that servant  _talk_ to him? Edmund had hoped that training Merlin and showing Arthur what having a  _real_  servant was like would open his mind to the wonders of underlings that didn't backtalk, but the prince was having trouble getting the boy to break – he was much more resilient than he looked – and Arthur was still so livid at Edmund's treatment of him that the prince couldn't help but wonder if Arthur would ever come around.

All in all, though, he decided that it didn't matter; no, not one bit. Yes, this had started because of Arthur and he still wanted the prince of Camelot to see what a worthless piece of scum he was treating almost as an equal, but even if it became apparent – as it seemed to be at this point in time – that Arthur was not going to be moved from his blinded position, Edmund planned on continuing and completing Merlin's training no matter what. It was personal now; the boy had lasted longer than many of the others despite how desperate his situation had become and he was a cheeky, unprofessional,  _horrible_  excuse for a slave – or servant, or whatever the heck they called them here in Camelot.

Of course, it was proving to be difficult to train a servant that seemed to have slipped off during the night while Edmund was sleeping. Shrugging as he approached Arthur's door, Edmund smirked as he remembered threatening to cut off Merlin's water supply if he so much as  _tried_  to get away. The boy was in for it now and Edmund found his heart beating faster in anticipation of the moment when he would find the runaway, drag him back to his chambers, beat some respect into him, and then watch him fade away because of what he had done. Maybe –  _maybe_  – if he cooperated after a day or two, Edmund would let him have a drink so he wouldn't die. But Merlin would soon realize that it was  _Edmund_  that held  _all_  the power. Merlin seemed to think that he could resist, that he had some semblance of a chance to break free of his position, but Edmund knew better. And now that Merlin had run, he was going to find that out the hard way.

Edmund knocked on Arthur's door loudly and curtly, continuing to bang on it until Arthur opened the door. Being even more infuriated than usual, he was in no mood to wait for Arthur to take his own time to answer the door. After a few seconds of knocking, the door swung open and a  _very_  annoyed Arthur Pendragon stood before Edmund, blue eyes icy and filled with a dark anger that almost made Edmund step back in shock. Almost. Instead, he gave Arthur a ghost of a smirk and glared at him for a few moments before speaking. When he did, his tone was as cold as the look in Arthur's eyes.

"Do you know where he is, Prince Arthur?"

Arthur stared blankly at the man for a few moments before his eyes narrowed dangerously. "Where  _who_  is?" he asked suspiciously, his guarded expression giving nothing – no emotion other than the chilly dislike present whenever Edmund was nearby – away.

Edmund's eyes narrowed as well and he regarded Arthur carefully for a few moments before deciding on a plan of action – he was going to be blunt about this and measure Arthur's reaction. That would more than likely tell him anything he needed to know about what Arthur knew. "That  _servant_ , Merlin," he spat angrily. "He slipped away last night while I was sleeping." He didn't mention that he didn't have any idea when or how he fell asleep because that was just as much of a mystery to himself right now as well. Even so, he planned to punish Merlin for his unexpected nap as well, even though there was no logical explanation nor any reason why it would really be the boy's fault.

To his surprise, Arthur didn't display any signs of guilt – no shifting of his gaze or fidgeting of his hands, nothing to indicate that he had tried to help Merlin or had hidden him. Instead, Arthur snorted. "Wow," he said sarcastically. "The great servant-trainer of Stafford has misplaced his newest trainee. This might put a little dent in your background, mightn't it?" He didn't seem guilty but he certainly seemed pleased.

Edmund gritted his teeth, anger boiling over but he managed to keep it mostly contained. He knew that once he found Merlin, he would have the perfect way to get out his anger and aggression after this – he made a mental note to punish Merlin with an extra three lashes every time Arthur made a comment to defend him or said something snotty to Edmund. His reasoning? Merlin never should have wedged himself into the position in Arthur's life where the  _prince_  would feel the need to defend the  _servant_. It was maddening, sickening to Edmund and he was determined to make Merlin suffer for all the mixed-up mayhem he had caused in the life of his master.

That was three extra lashes for Merlin already.

"It isn't funny, Arthur," Edmund seethed. "He has disobeyed me; left me without my permission—"

Arthur snorted. "Just in case you didn't know, Merlin is a servant. He's not  _required_  to work for a member of a royal household if he doesn't want to. He can quit if he wants. Besides, he's not even  _from_  Camelot; if he wants to leave, then by all means, what's stopping him?" His eyes narrowed. "Certainly not you, Edmund?"

Six lashes.

Edmund glowered. "You've let him corrupt you, Arthur," he said as calmly as possible. "You've let that scum work his way into your mind and you're defending someone who's not worth your time, effort, or energy. He's just a worthless nobody, and if you know where he is—"

"I hope you're not threatening me," Arthur said coolly, looking Edmund in the eye with a schooled expression, one eyebrow perched a bit higher on his forehead than the other. "Because treaty or not, I don't believe my father will stand for anyone – even the son of his friend – to threaten his son, especially because of a mere  _servant_." He scoffed and took a step closer to Edmund. "I'm not hiding him in my room, I'd tell you to see for yourself but I don't want your dirty little hands on any of my things." He moved so they were nose to nose. "Now, I'm only going to tell you this  _once_ , so listen closely: I am  _done_  with your ridiculous ideas that Merlin's life is worth nothing, I'm  _sick_ of you trying to destroy our friendship, and I am  _not_  going to stand for whatever sick abuse you've been hurling his way. I don't know where he's at, but you better hope that  _I_  find him before you do… otherwise, if I find you've hurt him any more than you already have, I'll make sure you _pay_."

* * *

Arthur was pleased to see real fear seep into Edmund's previously unaffected expression. Now that his leverage had vanished, his whole plot was in danger. Whether he chose to believe it or not, his control over the situation was rapidly plummeting. He no longer had the upper hand and now that he didn't have anything to blackmail them with, he was in danger of his plan crumbling around his ears. This made Arthur very, very happy.

"Now," he said slowly, angrily, and softly, "get the hell out of my room before I call the guards on you."

Edmund hesitated for the briefest of seconds before backing away and skulking back down the way he came. When he was a safe distance away from Arthur and his wrath, he turned and shouted, "My father will hear about this and he won't be happy that you threatened me, either!" Almost as an afterthought he added something that didn't make any sense to Arthur but still managed to give him chills of foreboding nonetheless. "Nine lashes."

Arthur shuddered and made sure that Edmund was really on his way back to his chambers before leaving his room and heading down the hall toward a room that hadn't been used in nearly a year, that Uther claimed would never be used again, but that was indeed being used right now. He arrived at Morgana's old chambers, withdrew the key that he had kept even though Morgana had been gone for months now, presumably plotting against them or mourning her sister, or whatever it was slightly mad evil half-sisters did in their spare time. With a sigh, he unlocked the door and opened it, relieved to see the room exactly as he had left it early this morning.

He stepped inside, checked the empty corridors, and closed the door silently behind him, locking it again and knowing that as long as he didn't make any loud noises, no one would suspect anyone being here. With a satisfied smile at his ingeniousness, Arthur hurried over to the bedside and sucked in his breath, the damage done to his friend still shaking him to the bones. His voice was just a lamenting whisper, one that he would vehemently deny later in life if anyone brought it up.

"Merlin."

* * *

"He  _threatened_ me, Father."

The visiting king looked at his son from the desk seat in his guest chambers, stomach full from a scrumptious feast and body and mind mellow and at ease. "Edmund, I know Prince Arthur well, and he doesn't seem to be the type of man who would—"

Anger beating out his common courtesy, Edmund interrupted. "Sire, it's  _only_  when that servant is involved and—"

"Edmund, I understand that you feel it is your duty to train this boy for Arthur, but if the prince doesn't want it, then you might should just let it alone. It's taking up your time here, Prince Edmund, when you should be enjoying yourself. And anyway, if Arthur gets too wound up over this ordeal and his father takes offense, we could risk the treaty. This union between Camelot and Stafford is our  _priority_ , Edmund – you know this, have known it since before we arrived. And Camelot has a different way of training servants – perhaps you are encroaching upon our friends' customs too much. Why don't we just let it rest, give the boy back to Arthur if you find him, and be done with it?" The large king closed his eyes, his ample cheeks sagging past his small mouth. "Now, if you'll excuse me, son, it is nearly time for my mid-evening nap." And his double chin almost immediately dropped to his chest and he began to snore.

Edmund clenched his fists, anger at his failure, at his father's weakness, at Merlin, and at Arthur, he stomped out of his father's rooms. Not even bothering to count how many lashes Merlin had earned because of his new "master's" rising anger, Edmund made a promise to himself that he intended to keep, no matter what. If Arthur was throwing caution and the treaty to the wind, and if Edmund's father was advising him to give up on this whole endeavor  _because_  of that blasted treaty, then so be it. He would join the game, too, and he would win, triumph over Merlin, the mere servant who had caused him more humiliation that he'd ever faced before.

Now, in the face of defeat, of being outsmarted and told to quit while he was ahead, Edmund realized that he was no longer fueled by a desire to set Merlin straight. No, now he wanted, more than anything,  _revenge_  on the one that was behind all of this.

When he found Merlin, he was going to make him wish he had never been born.


	17. Banished

The next time Merlin woke up, he knew before he even opened his eyes that he wasn't alone. He could sense another presence in the room, but whether it was due to his powers or the tingling feeling of someone's eyes on him, he didn't know. He felt his gut roll in anticipation. Obviously, someone had found him passed out in the courtyard and had brought him here – wherever  _here_  was. The last time he had struggled his way to semi-consciousness, he hadn't been aware enough to try to figure out where he was. Now, though, he was feeling substantially better – he was still in pain and there was a biting, aching hunger in his stomach, but both feelings were muted considerably.

Before he attempted to actually open his eyes, Merlin let his other senses take over, careful not to let whoever else was in the room with him know he was awake. He could  _feel_ something soft but firm beneath him. He was lying on his side, he realized, and he was on a bed – the softest bed he had ever slept on. He felt like he was lying on a cloud. Under his head was a soft, feathery pillow and he could feel soft sheets caressing his aching body and the weight of a heavier blanket covering him up.

He could  _smell_  something that took him a while to place; it was a musty but not necessarily unpleasant scent, one that he was well enough accustomed to by now. Disuse. It was the smell of something that had been put out of use, something that was locked away but still well cared for nonetheless. He could  _hear_  the sound of light breathing somewhere to his right side; he couldn't believe he hadn't noticed it before, or maybe he had and hadn't registered it, and  _that's_  why his subconscious knew someone was there.

And he could  _taste_  the coppery, sour taste of blood – not overwhelming or pungent, but it was still there, lurking in his mouth, along with another, much less pleasant taste that said he had been sick recently. He swallowed back bile at the thought, suddenly a strange mixture of relieved and apprehensive that he didn't remember anything or what was going on. Only that Edmund had moved on to Stage Three, a stage that Merlin hadn't been sure he would be able to survive without revealing his magic and turning Edmund into something  _quite_ unpleasant.

But now, it seemed, his senses were telling him that he was on the mend, somewhere out of the way but clean and safe, on a bed that felt like air. So whoever had found him, it couldn't be  _that_  terrible, could it? He couldn't answer that, terrified that this was all just another trick; Edmund making him feel secure so that when Merlin finally gathered the strength – heck, the  _courage_  – to open his eyes, his spirit would be crushed at seeing there really was no hope after all.

He lay there silently for several moments before letting out a weak sigh, alerting whoever was with him that he was awake. He heard a soft shuffling noise, the shifting of fabric and creak of wood, and then a voice – a voice that Merlin recognized even through the foreign emotions running through it. Even with the guilt, the worry, and the sadness, there was no mistaking Arthur's voice – and it had the tiniest of a tremble to it. Merlin wondered disjointedly what had happened to make Arthur sound so unsure of himself as he said Merlin's name.

Merlin cracked his eyes opened, hissing at the dim but painful light that filtered through his eyelids. He heard Arthur's anxious intake of breath and resisted the urge to just close his eyes and melt back into oblivion again. Besides, his curiosity had been peaked. He wanted to know where he was, what had happened to him, where Edmund had gone, and why Arthur was watching over him when he had blatantly stated that Merlin was not his problem.

So with a groan, Merlin opened his cerulean eyes all the way, ignoring the pain the flickering candlelight inflicted on his head. His eyes moved lethargically around until his vision came into focus and he nearly jumped and fell out of the bed when he saw another face looming over his, light blue eyes filled with poorly masked concern. "Arthur, what the hell—!" Merlin yelped weakly as his master leaned back, smirking, and crossed his arms over his broad chest.

"I see you finally decided to rejoin the land of the living," Arthur said prattishly, except his tone wasn't nearly as obnoxious as his words.

Merlin blinked owlishly and tried to push himself into a sitting position, pleased to find that while he was still  _very_  weak, it didn't feel like every bone in his body was broken at the effort, either. Arthur jumped in instantly to help Merlin sit, propping him against several pillows. Merlin eyed the prince warily, not sure he trusted this new, caring Arthur. Then he thought about the hell of the past week as Edmund's servant and decided he'd take anything – even freakishly nice Arthur – over what had been. He didn't know where Edmund was but he couldn't find the courage to hope that this all might be over.

This was why instead of asking the question that burned at the forefront of his mind – "Is Prince Stuffy Stafford gone?" – he chose another query, potentially less dangerous. "What happened?"

Arthur eyed his servant critically, the look on his face softer than Merlin was used to – almost like the expression he adopted when he was watching Guinevere, but thankfully _much_  less sappy – and he said, "What's the last thing you remember?"

Merlin thought back, cringing at the mental images that sprung forth as a result of Arthur's question. Hunger, pain from multiple lacerations and bruises, the sound of flesh striking flesh, the smell and taste of his own blood in his nose and mouth... Coming to the realization that he simply wasn't strong enough to go on like this on his own, at least without his magic, knowing that he  _couldn't_  use his magic, and taking the only avenue he could think of – going to the Great Dragon for help. Although what Kilgharrah could've done, really, besides swoop down and gulp the self-righteous, abusive bastard up, Merlin wasn't sure. He didn't know what he'd been thinking, going to a dragon for help against the Prince of bloody Stafford, but he hadn't been in his right mind. He had just needed  _help_  and he hadn't wanted to get Gaius or Gwaine or Gwen or, heck, even  _Arthur_  in trouble, even if the prince had abandoned him.

Which brought Merlin back around full circle as he once again found himself trying to figure out why Arthur was here with him, obviously so worried and taking care of him, when he had made it abundantly clear that he didn't give a second thought to his servant. Instead of answering Arthur's question, Merlin licked his dry lips hesitantly and managed, "Why are you—?"

" _Mer_ lin." Arthur's voice was tinged with impatience but seemed to be filled with more exasperated affection. "Shut up;  _I'm_  asking the questions here." Merlin noticed that Arthur kept his voice low and whispered but didn't comment.

"Um… I remember… Stuff—um, I mean, Prince Edmund. He was…" Merlin trailed off, fighting back a shudder of dread that threatened to rack his too-thin frame. He'd lost  _way_  too much weight since he'd been handed over to Edmund. "Well, he was angry. And he…" He brought his right hand up to his swollen face and neck, bile itching at the back of his throat as he remembered Edmund beating him mercilessly with his fists. He noticed thick, crusted welts around his wrists and his mind was whisked away, back into the closet where Edmund had left him, tied and gagged, after doing a number on him.

Arthur made a disgusted noise at the back of his throat and cut Merlin off with a wave of his hand. "Yeah, I get it," he said, the anger radiating off of his skin.

Neither man said anything and an awkward, though not entirely uncomfortable, silence fell into place for several minutes.

Then – "Where are we?"

Arthur's eyes were clouded. "Morgana's old chambers."

Merlin's heart skipped a beat. "Wh-what? But they're – the king – we'll—"

" _Relax_ , idiot," Arthur ordered tersely, his tone booking no room for argument. "No one knows we're here and they  _won't_  unless you get all worked up and start making noise."

"Why?"

Arthur snorted. "Because people might get suspicious if they hear  _your_  idiotic blathers coming from a room that's supposed to be empty!"

Merlin stared at his master blankly. "That's not—"

"I know," Arthur acquiesced. "Idiot."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Merlin was fairly well caught up on just about everything that had happened since his unfortunate – or maybe, considering where he was right now and how there was no Prince Edmund in sight, not so unfortunate – collapse in the courtyard.

Arthur had been the one to find him, sprawled out unconscious on the ground. Arthur's voice had choked a bit here but both he and Merlin pretended that it didn't. Maybe on another occasion, Merlin would call him out on it, but after everything that had happened and the guilt-ridden expression on Arthur's face, Merlin found that he couldn't bring himself to do it. No one had been around, so Arthur had scooped Merlin up – "I had to carry your bloody dead weight all through the castle like you were my bloody bride!" Arthur had griped, but his eyes had been distant and Merlin found himself wondering how light he really had been – and taken him to the only place he knew would be safe from all prying eyes, because no one in their right minds would go into Morgana's old chambers. Merlin had asked what that said about Arthur, but the prince had called him an idiot and told him to shut up and Merlin, wanting to know the rest of the story, had complied.

No one, Arthur told him conspiratorially, not even Gaius, knew Merlin was here. Merlin protested, insisting that Gaius would be worried sick and that Arthur should go tell him now. Arthur had pointed out that the more people, even trusted people, that knew, the bigger chance there would be that Edmund would find out. And as much as Merlin hated leaving Gaius out of the loop, Merlin couldn't argue with Arthur's logic.

Arthur had gathered what supplies and food he could without being conspicuous and made sure the corridors around Morgana's room were cleared before he went to tend to Merlin, always locking the door behind him. Merlin had been surprised to learn that Arthur had been taking care of him by himself and although he'd done a rather terrible job of correctly wrapping and bandaging Merlin's injuries, the servant was touched.

Now, as Merlin shifted painfully on the bed, he turned his blue eyes to Arthur's face pleadingly. "How long do I have to stay here?" He was nervous about being illegally in his once-friend-now-enemy's chambers and wanted to get back to Gaius and to his old life as soon as possible.

Arthur smiled. "Our visiting prince's last days in Camelot are approaching swiftly. And I daresay that when he is gone, Father will have no problem re-assigning you to your old master."

Merlin breathed a sigh of relief. "Never thought I'd be so happy to serve a prat like you," he grinned.

Arthur laughed, but then grew serious. "Merlin, I'm –" He broke off, grimacing, before sucking up his pride for once and pushing on, "I'm sorry."

Merlin's eyes widened. "I'm sorry? What was that?"

"I'm not repeating myself. Idiot."

"You keep using that word," Merlin couldn't help but jibe. "But don't worry, it's okay. I won't judge you because of your limited vocabulary."

"Shut up, Merlin." A beat. "I mean it, Merlin. I was trying… trying, oh damn it all! I was trying to protect you, Merlin, and I ended up making things worse. I thought if I acted like I didn't care that I could get Edmund's attention away from you, but it didn't work. I only ended pushing you away and causing you more pain. I—"

Merlin was more than a little overwhelmed at what was a sincere, albeit nervous and rushed, apology from Arthur, and he finally cut the prince off, never having been one to care much about propriety. But then, that's what had set this whole thing off, hadn't it? "Arthur, you don't have to apologize," Merlin said, his heart lighter than it had been in ages. "If I hadn't been so focused on myself, I would've realized that you and the knights were just steering clear because you were trying to protect me."

"I swear, Merlin, I'm never letting you serve another noble besides me again, priorities or not! Merlin, you almost  _died_  because I couldn't, because I  _didn't_ , and Edmund is a sick son of a-"

"Trust me, I know," Merlin agreed, deciding not to make Arthur suffer from his inability to talk about his feelings any longer. "But what's done is done, right? When Edmund finally leaves—"

He was interrupted as there was a knock at the door. Both men froze, Merlin shooting Arthur a near-panicked look. But Arthur simply winked and held a finger over his lips, signaling for Merlin to be silent. Merlin raised his eyebrows but did as he was told. The pounding on the door got louder, the handle rattling frantically. Merlin looked at Arthur anxiously but when he saw that Arthur hadn't so much as twitched, the calm, almost smug look on his face, still there, he fell quiet and still, trusting Arthur to know what he was doing.

There was a crunching sound and Merlin jumped, causing his bruised ribs to jolt painfully, but his whimper of pain was hushed by Arthur's firm but not painful hand covering his mouth. Arthur glared, warning the servant to be quiet. The door shook again as someone kicked it with all their might. Merlin knew who was there, the only person angry – and stupid – enough to charge at a forbidden door with such rage. Merlin's heart pounded and Arthur slowly removed his hand. One more shudder and then – "Oy! Whaddya think you're doing?" The voice was oddly familiar but Merlin's muddled brain couldn't place it at the moment.

"My  _property, a runaway,_  is in there!" Edmund's grating voice screeched from the other side of the door and Merlin found himself retreating into his mind, the only thing keeping him rooted to reality the man sitting in a chair beside the bed, a strong hand on Merlin's trembling shoulder.

"That's the Lady Morgana's chambers! No one is to go near her rooms unless—"

"I swear, I'll kill you if you don't get out of my way—" Edmund was definitely beyond reason now, so angry at being outwitted that he wasn't thinking straight.

Another voice joined the mix, this one cold and almost shaking with anger. "You  _dare_  to try and enter a room that has been forbidden;  _my_  Morgana's chambers? And to threaten one of my personal guards? You have betrayed my trust, Prince Edmund. You should be happy that I have just signed the peace treaty, or I would challenge you  _myself_. As it is, I want you _out_  of my kingdom  _now_ , and if you  _ever_  try to invade  _my_  Morgana's space again, you will regret it."

"My father—"

"—Is in agreement," the visiting king's voice chipped in. "King Uther gave you free run of the castle; the only room he banned was this one, and for reasons that you know are personal. He is the  _king_  of Camelot and your authority here, and you've embarrassed yourself, me, and your kingdom!"

The voices faded away as they began to leave, but Uther's voice rang out one last time. "You, guard, check and make sure the room is empty." The footsteps receded.

Merlin, reeling from what he had just heard, felt his heart pound frantically as a key was inserted into the lock and the door swung open to reveal a guard standing in the doorway. The man pulled off his helmet, revealing long, fluffy brown hair, and Merlin gaped as Gwaine winked at him and then Arthur. "Bloody brilliant idea, leading Stuff-It to the room and getting him busted for invading Uther's beloved room," he grinned. "And planting me as the 'guard' who sends for Uther? Smart as hell."

Merlin gaped at Arthur. "So  _Gwaine_ was in on this whole thing? And you came up with all that?" he asked the prince.

Gwaine snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. I did. That's why it's so bloody brilliant." He winked at Merlin, the simple gesture conveying his apologies for treating Merlin like he didn't care and the relief that he was alright. He turned on his heel and left, closing and locking the door behind him, off to tell Uther that the room hadn't been touched and to confirm that Edmund had just been encroaching on Uther's sacred property and had no legitimate reason for doing so.

"I told you it was his last day here," Arthur said, smiling.

"Thanks," Merlin breathed.

"Let's just get you out of here while my father's distracted," Arthur said gruffly, turning away before peeking out to check the hallway, finding it clear like he knew it would be.

"Come on, Idiot, let's get you to Gaius."

Merlin grinned as Arthur helped him up and out of the bed, watching with an idiotic grin on his face as the prince struggled to make the bed back – something he was terrible at – and finally allowing Merlin, although weakened and hurting, to smooth out the covers like only a servant could.

"Hey Arthur," said Merlin after they were safely away from Morgana's chambers, Edmund, and Uther, on their way to the physician's chamber.

"What?" Arthur snapped a bit irritably but resigned to his fate, having known that Merlin's exhaustion-induced silence wouldn't last for long at all.

Merlin chuckled, wincing and for once looking forward to one of Gaius's terrible painkilling potions. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you have a  _really_  terrible taste in friends."

Arthur's face was etched in guilt for a moment before he took notice of the light tone in Merlin's voice. "Yeah, well," he replied in his prattiest voice, "maybe so." He then glanced at the thin servant he was supporting, the man that had gotten injured and hurt for him, taking it all without comment so that Arthur and Camelot would be safe. He knew who his real friend was, and wasn't going to make a mistake like this again. "But, hey, what does that say about you, then, eh?"

And through the pain and stress of the past few weeks, Merlin simply smiled.

Because Arthur – stubborn, obnoxious, pratty, condescending, patronizing, overbearing Prince Arthur – had just overcome his pride and admitted that Merlin was his friend.

Prince Edmund may have been a lost cause, Merlin realized, but with rising spirits, he decided that there was much more hope for Arthur, after all.

**THE END**


End file.
